/ 


V 


Xt  iy  /  ^   H- 


- 


GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 


"If  anyone  comes  jihm^  I  he^in  knittinjr. " 


GEORGINA'S 
SERVICE  STARS 


BY 

ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

Author  of  "Georgina  of  the  Rainbows,"  "Two  Little 

Knights  of  Kentucky"  "The  Giant  Scissors" 

"The  Desert  of  Waiting"  Etc. 


Illustrations  by  Thelma  Gooch 


"For  the  deed's  sake  have  I  done  the  deed." 
—"Idylls  of  the  King." 


NEW  YORK 
BRITTON   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


Copyright,   1918 
BRITTON  PUBLISHING  COMPANY,  INC. 


Made  in  U.  S.  A.     All  rights  reserved. 


To 
THOSE  BEHIND  THE  SERVICE 

FLAGS 

whose  part  in  this  world-struggle  can  never  be 
chronicled.  Their  sacrifices  are  unnumbered  and 
their  wounds  are  within. 

To  the  silent  Heroism  which  shoulders  the 
double  load  and  faces  the  loneliness  undaunted. 

To  the  Patriotism  which,  denied  the  sword, 
takes  up  ivhatever  weapon  lies  at  hand  and  wields 
it  valiantly  at  home. 

To  the  Love  which  "beareth  all  things,  endureth 
all  things,"  that  in  its  "Service  Stars"  may  be 
written  a  righteous  destiny  for  the  Nations,  and 
the  prophecy  of  a  lasting  peace. 


CONTENTS 

i 

PART  I 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS     ...  13 

II.     THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS      ....  26 

III.  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR 37 

IV.  HER  IDEAL  GIRL  STEPS  IN 46 

V.     A  PHOTOGRAPH  AND  SOME  DAY-DREAMS  56 

VI.    THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR 66 

VII.     A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH     ......  79 

VIII.     DISILLUSIONED 91 

IX.     SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER 104 

X.     AT    HARRINGTON   HALL 116 

XI.     THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP 126 

XII.     "SHOD    GOES    SURE" 140 

XIII.  A  WORK-A-DAY  VACATION 151 

PART  II 

XIV.  THE  CALL   TO  ARMS 163 

XV.     "THE   GATES   AJAR" 173 

XVI.      HOME-COMINGS 184 

XVII.     BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD    ....  198 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVIII.    A  WAR  WEDDING 210 

XIX.    THE  VIGIL  IN  THE  SWING 224 

XX.  THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  ANGELS     .     .     .  238 

XXI.     "PIRATE  GOLD" 243 

XXII.  "THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS  HER  WARRIOR'S 

SASH" 257 

XXIII.  MARKED  ON  THE  CALENDAR 267 

XXIV.  BRAVE  LITTLE  CARRIER  PIGEON!     .     .     .  277 
XXV.     "MISSING" 289 

XXVI.  "THE  SERVICE  OF   SHINING"     ....  300 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"If   anyone   comes  along   I   begin   knitting" — Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 
"I  don't  think  compliments  are  good  for  the  male  mind"       56 

Richard  salutes  "Sallie  Jane" 216 

"Lieutenant   Richard  Moreland  Missing " 298 


BARON  :     ' '  What  guerdon  will  ye  f " 
GARETH:   "None.    For  the  deed's  sake  have  1 
done  the  deed." 

— Idylls  of  fiie  'King. 


GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 
PART  I 


"My  salad  days,  when  I  was  green  in  judgment. 


GEORGINA'S  SERVICE    STARS 

CHAPTER  I 

GEORGIA  BEGINS   HER   MEMOIES 

UP  the  crooked  street  which  curves  for  three 
miles  around  the  harbor  comes  the  sound  of  the 
Towncrier  's  bell.  It  seems  strange  that  he  should 
happen  along  this  morning,  just  as  I've  seated 
myself  by  this  garret  window  to  begin  the  story 
of  my  life,  for  it  was  the  sound  of  his  bell  five 
years  ago  which  first  put  it  into  my  head  to  write 
it.  And  yet,  it  isn't  so  strange  after  all,  when 
one  remembers  the  part  the  dear  old  man  has  had 
in  my  past.  * '  Uncle  Darcy, "  as  I  Ve  always  called 
him,  has  been  mixed  up  with  most  of  its  impor 
tant  happenings. 

That  day,  when  I  first  thought  of  writing  my 
memoirs,  was  in  Spring  house-cleaning  time,  and 
I  had  been  up  here  all  morning,  watching  them 
drag  out  old  heirlooms  from  the  chests  and  cub 
by-holes  under  the  rafters.  Each  one  had  a  his- 

13 


14         GEOKGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

tory.  From  one  of  the  gable  windows  I  could 
look  down  on  the  beach  at  the  very  spot  where  the 
Pilgrims  first  landed,  and  away  over  on  the  tongue 
of  sand,  which  ends  the  Cape,  I  could  see  the  place 
where  they  say  the  old  Norse  Viking,  Thorwald, 
was  buried  nine  hundred  years  ago. 

From  this  window  where  I  am  sitting,  I  looked 
down  as  I  do  now,  on  the  narrow  street  with  the 
harbor  full  of  sails  on  one  side  and  the  gardens 
of  the  Portuguese  fishermen  spread  out  along  the 
other,  like  blocks  in  a  gay  patchwork  quilt.  I  re 
member  as  I  stood  looking  out  I  heard  Uncle  Dar- 
cy's  bell  far  down  the  street.  He  was  crying  a 
fish  auction.  And  suddenly  the  queer  feeling  came 
over  me  that  I  was  living  in  a  story-book  town, 
and  that  I  was  a  part  of  it  all,  and  some  day  I 
must  write  that  story  of  it  and  me. 

I  did  not  begin  it  then,  being  only  ten  years  old 
at  that  time  and  not  strong  on  spelling.  It  would 
have  kept  me  continually  hunting  through  the  dic 
tionary,  or  else  asking  Tippy  how  to  spell  things, 
and  that  would  have  led  to  her  knowing  all.  Her 
curiosity  about  my  affairs  is  almost  unbelievable. 

But  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  begin 
it  now.  "The  Life  and  Letters  of  Georgina  Hunt 
ingdon"  ought  to  make  interesting  reading  some 
of  these  days  when  I  am  famous,  as  I  have  a  right 
to  expect,  me  being  the  granddaughter  of  such  a 


great  Kentucky  editor  as  Colonel  Clayton  Shir 
ley.  To  write  is  in  my  blood,  although  on  the 
Huntingdon  side  it's  only  dry  law  books. 

I  am  going  to  jot  down  all  sorts  of  innermost 
things  in  this  blank  book  which  will  not  be  in  the 
printed  volume,  because  I  might  pass  away  before 
it  is  published,  and  if  any  one  else  had  to  under 
take  it  he  could  do  it  more  understandingly  if 
he  knew  my  secret  ambitions  and  my  opinion  of 
life  and  people.  But  I  shall  bracket  all  such  pri 
vate  remarks  with  red  ink,  and  put  a  warning  on 
the  fly-leaf  like  the  one  on  Shakespeare's  tomb: 
"Cursed  be  he  who  moves  these  bones." 

He  would  have  been  dug  up  a  thousand  times, 
probably,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that,  so  I  shall 
protect  the  thoughts  buried  here  between  these 
red  brackets  in  the  same  way. 

"Cursed  be  he  who  prints  this  part 
From  the  inmost  sanctum  of  my  heart." 

Up  to  this  time  there  has  been  little  in  my  life 
important  enough  to  put  into  a  record,  so  it  is 
just  as  well  that  I  waited.  But  now  that  this  awful 
war  is  going  on  over  in  Europe,  all  sorts  of  thrill 
ing  things  may  begin  to  happen  to  us  any  minute. 
Father  says  there 's  no  telling  how  soon  our  coun 
try  may  be  fighting,  too.  He  thinks  it 's  shameful 


16         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

we  haven't  been  doing  our  part  all  along.  As  he 
is  a  naval  surgeon  and  has  been  in  the  service  so 
many  years,  he  will  be  among  the  first  to  be  drawn 
into  the  thick  of  danger  and  adventure. 

I  am  old  enough  now  to  understand  what  that 
will  mean  to  us  all,  for  I  am  fifteen  years  and 
eleven  months,  and  could  easily  pass  for  much 
older  if  Barby  would  only  let  me  put  my  hair  up. 
Barby  is  the  dearest  mother  that  ever  lived,  and 
I  wouldn  't  for  worlds  appear  to  be  criticizing  her, 
but  she  is  a  bit  old-fashioned  in  some  of  her  ideas 
about  bringing  up  children.  I  believe  she  and 
Tippy  would  like  to  keep  me  the  rest  of  my  mortal 
life,  *  *  standing  with  reluctant  feet  where  the  brook 
and  river  meet,"  regardless  of  the  fact  that  I  am 
all  ready  to  wade  in  and  fully  able  to  do  so. 

I  asked  Tippy  why  nobody  ever  quotes  that 
verse  farther  along  in  the  poem,  which  exactly  ex 
presses  my  sentiments: 

"Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
When  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysian?" 

It  stumped  her  to  think  of  an  answer  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  she  made  an  excuse  of  putting  the  cat 
out,  in  order  to  give  herself  more  time.  But  when 
she  came  back  all  she  had  foun£  to  say  was  that 


GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS    17 

I  needn't  think  being  grown  up  was  any  field 
Elysian.  I  was  eating  my  white  bread  now,  and 
if  a  girl  only  knew  all  that  lay  ahead  of  her  she'd 
let  well  enough  alone.  She'd  wait  for  trouble  to 
come  to  her  instead  of  running  to  meet  it. 

Somehow  I  don't  believe  Tippy  ever  had  any 
bright  angels  beckoning  her,  else  she  couldn't  be 
so  pessimistic  about  my  growing  up.  I  can't 
think  of  her  as  ever  being  anything  but  an  elderly 
widow  with  her  hair  twisted  into  a  peanut  on  the 
back  of  her  head.  And  yet  she  had  a  lover  once, 
and  a  wedding  day,  or  she  couldn  't  be  Mrs.  Maria 
Triplett  now.  But  it's  impossible  to  think  of  her 
as  being  gay  fifteen  and  dancing  down  the  stairs 
to  meet  the  morning  with  a  song.  One  feels  that 
she  met  it  with  a  broom,  saying : 

"  Shall  birds  and  bees  and  ants  be  wise 
While  I  my  moments  waste  ? 
0  let  me  with  the  morning  rise 
And  to  my  duties  haste." 

She's  said  that  to  me  probably  as  much  as  five 
hundred  times.  I  shall  bracket  this  part  about  her 
just  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  bottle  of  red  ink.  But 
how  I'm  going  to  account  to  her  for  having  red 
ink  in  my  possession  is  more  than  I  know. 

That's  the  worst  about  being  the  only  child  in 


18         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

a  family.  They're  all  so  fond  of  you  and  so  in 
terested  in  your  sayings  and  doings,  that  they 
watch  every  movement  of  your  mind  and  body. 
You're  like  a  clock  in  a  glass  case  "with  your  works 
open  to  the  gaze  of  the  older  people.  It's  all  very 
well  during  the  first  years  for  them  to  keep  tab 
on  your  development,  but  the  trouble  is  most 
relatives  never  seem  to  know  when  you're  de 
veloped,  and  have  reached  the  point  where  a  lit 
tle  privacy  is  your  right.  It 's  maddening  to  have 
to  give  a  reason  every  time  you  turn  around. 

All  the  lives  of  noted  people  which  I  have  read 
begin  with  the  person's  birthplace  and  who  his 
parents  were,  and  his  early  acts  which  showed  he 
gave  promise  of  being  a  genius.  So  I'll  pause 
right  here  for  a  brief  outline  of  such  things. 

My  name  is  Georgina  Huntingdon.  A  name  to 
be  proud  of — so  Tippy  has  always  impressed  on 
me — and  one  hard  to  live  up  to.  She  used  to  show 
it  to  me  on  the  silver  christening  cup  that  came 
down  to  me  from  the  great-great-aunt  for  whom  I 
am  named.  She'd  take  the  tip  of  my  finger  in 
hers  and  solemnly  trace  the  slim-looped  letters 
around  the  rim,  till  I  came  to  feel  that  it  was  a 
silver  name,  and  that  I  must  keep  it  shining  by 
growing  up  unusually  smart  and  good.  That  I 
owed  it  to  the  cup  or  the  great-aunt  or  the  Pil- 


GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS    19 

grim  monument  or  something,  to  act  so  as  to  add 
lustre  to  the  name. 

Tippy  is  a  distant  cousin  on  father 's  side.  She 
has  lived  with  us  ever  since  Barby  brought  me 
up  here  from  Kentucky,  where  I  was  born. 
Father,  being  a  naval  surgeon,  was  off  in  foreign 
ports  most  of  the  time,  and  Barby,  being  such  a 
young  and  inexperienced  mother,  needed  her  com 
panionship.  Barby  is  lots  younger  than  father. 
It  was  hard  for  her  at  first,  coming  away  with 
just  me,  from  that  jolly  big  family  down  South 
who  adored  her,  to  this  old  Cape  Cod  homestead 
that  had  been  boarded  up  so  long. 

Lonely  and  gray,  it  stands  at  the  end  of  town, 
up  by  the  breakwater,  facing  the  very  spot  on 
the  beach  where  the  Pilgrims  landed.  One  of 
them  was  an  ancestor  of  mine,  so  the  big  monu 
ment  overlooking  the  harbor  and  the  tip  of  the 
Cape  was  put  up  partly  in  his  honor. 

Really,  several  pages  might  well  be  devoted  to 
my  ancestors,  for  one  was  a  minute-man  whose 
name  is  in  the  history  I  studied  at  school.  His 
powder-horn  hangs  over  the  dining-room  mantel, 
and  Tippy  used  to  shame  me  with  it  when  I  was 
afraid  of  rats  or  the  dark  cellarway.  If  I  were 
asked  to  name  three  things  which  have  influenced 
me  most  in  arousing  my  ambition  to  overcome  my 
faults  and  to  do  something  big  and  really  worth. 


20         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

while  in  the  world,  I'd  name  my  christening  cup, 
that  Pilgrim  monument  and  the  old  powder-horn. 

With  such  a  heritage  it  is  unthinkable  that  I 
should  settle  down  to  an  ordinary  career.  Some 
thing  inside  of  me  tells  me  that  I  am  destined  to 
make  my  name  an  honored  household  word  in 
many  climes.  I've  considered  doing  this  in  sev 
eral  ways. 

It  might  be  well  to  mention  here  that  my  earliest 
passion  was  for  the  stage.  That  will  explain  why 
quotations  came  so  trippingly  from  my  tongue 
at  times.  I  learned  yards  and  yards  of  poems 
and  Shakespeare's  plays  for  declamation,  and  I'm 
always  given  one  of  the  leading  parts  in  the  ama 
teur  theatricals  at  the  High  School  or  the  Town 
Hall.  My  looks  may  have  something  to  do  with 
that,  however.  As  it  might  seem  conceited  for  me 
to  describe  myself  as  my  mirror  shows  me,  I'll 
just  paste  some  newspaper  clippings  on  this  page 
describing  different  plays  I've  been  in.  Several 
of  them  speak  of  my  dark  eyes  and  glowing  com 
plexion,  also  my  * '  wealth  of  nut-brown  curls, ' '  and 
my  graceful  dancing. 

But  in  my  Sophomore  year  at  High  School  I  be 
gan  to  feel  that  literature  might  be  my  forte,  even 
more  than  acting.  R.  B.  (which  initials  will  stand 
for  "red  brackets"  until  I  get  the  ink).  The  rea 
son  for  that  feeling  is  that  my  themes  in  English 


GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS    21 

were  always  marked  so  high  that  the  class  nick 
named  me  "Abou  ben  Ahdem." 

Last  summer  I  began  a  novel  called  " Divided," 
which  the  girls  were  crazy  about.  It  was  sug 
gested  by  Jean  Ingelow's  poem  by  that  name  and 
is  awfully  sad.  Really,  it  kept  me  so  depressed 
that  I  found  I  wasn't  half  enjoying  my  vacation. 
I  simply  lived  the  heroine's  part  myself. 

Now  that  I  am  a  Senior,  it  seems  to  me  that 
Journalism  offers  a  greater  field  than  fiction.  We 
had  a  debate  last  term  which  convinced  me  of  it. 
George  Woodson  had  the  affirmative,  and  I  didn't 
mind  being  beaten  because  he  used  grandfather 
for  one  of  his  arguments,  and  said  so  many  nice 
things  about  his  editorials  being  epoch-making 
and  his  inspired  phrases  moulding  public  opinion, 
and  being  caught  up  as  slogans  by  all  parties,  lead 
ing  on  to  victory.  He  spoke,  too,  of  them  being 
quoted  not  only  by  Punch  and  the  London  Times, 
but  by  papers  in  France  and  Australia. 

R.  B.  (I  am  fully  determined  either  to  write 
the  leading  novel  of  the  century,  or  to  own  and 
edit  a  newspaper  which  shall  be  a  world-power.) 

The  seashore  was  my  first  schoolroom.  Barby 
taught  me  to  write  in  the  sand  and  to  spell  words 
with  shells  and  pebbles.  I  learned  Arithmetic  by 
adding  and  subtracting  such  things  as  the  sails  in 
the  harbor  and  the  gulls  feeding  at  ebb-tide.  On 


22         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

stormy  days  when  we  were  home-bound,  I  counted 
the  times  the  fog-bell  tolled,  or  in  the  early  dark 
counted  how  often  Wood  End  lighthouse  blinked 
its  red  eye  at  me. 

But  I  must  get  on  with  my  story.  If  I  am  to 
have  room  in  this  book  for  all  the  big  happenings 
of  life,  which  I  feel  sure  lie  ahead  of  me,  I  cannot 
devote  too  much  space  to  early  memories,  no  mat 
ter  how  cherished.  Probably  in  the  final  revision 
all  the  scenes  I  have  lived  through  will  be  crowded 
into  one  act  or  chapter.  I  may  start  it  in  this 
fashion : 

Time 

First  fifteen  years  of  life  just  ended. 

Place 

An  ancient  fishing  town  between  the  sand- 
dunes  and  the  sea,  where  artists  flock  every 
summer  to  paint,  its  chief  attraction  for  them 
seeming  to  be  its  old  streets  and  wharves,  the 
Cape  Cod  people  whom  they  call  " quaint" 
and  the  Portuguese  fisher-folk. 

Principal  characters  besides  myself  and  family, 
already  described. 

DANIEL  DARCY 

The  old  Towncrier,  whom  I  call  "  Uncle 
Darcy"  and  love  as  dearly  as  if  he  were  really 
kin  to  me. 


GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS    23 

AUNT  ELSPETH 

His  wif e.    They  are  my  ideal  Darby  and  Joan. 
CAPTAIN  KIDD 

A  darling  Irish  terrier,  half  mine  and  half 

Richard's. 

RlCHAKD  MORELAND 

Who  comes  every  summer  to  stay  with  his 
cousin,  Mr.  James  Milford,  in  the  bungalow 
with  the  Green  Stairs.  He  has  been  like  an 
own  brother  to  me  since  the  days  when  we 
first  played  pirate  together,  when  he  was 
" Dare-devil  Dick,  the  Dread  Destroyer,"  and 
I  was  "Gory  George,  the  Menace  of  the 
Main. "  Barby  took  him  under  her  wing  then 
because  his  own  mother  was  dead  and  they've 
been  devoted  to  each  other  ever  since. 

This  summer  Richard  came  alone,  because  his 
father,  who  always  spends  his  vacations  with  him, 
did  not  come  back  from  his  Paris  studio  as  usual. 
He  is  in  the  trenches  now,  fighting  with  the  Al 
lies.  His  friends  shake  their  heads  when  they 
speak  of  him,  and  say  what  a  pity  such  a  brilliantly 
gifted  fellow  should  run  the  risk  of  being  killed 
or  maimed.  It  would  be  such  a  terrible  waste.  He 
could  serve  his  age  better  with  his  brush  than  a 
bayonet. 

But  when  Richard  talks  of  him  his  face  licrhts 


24         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

up  as  if  he  fairly  worships  him  for  being  such  a 
hero  as  to  sacrifice  his  art  for  the  cause  and  go 
in  just  as  a  private.  He  has  said  to  me  a  dozen 
times,  "That  is  why  the  Allies  will  win  this  war, 
Georgina,  because  men  like  Dad  are  putting  it 
through.  They  are  fighting  with  their  souls  as 
well  as  their  bodies.'* 

That's  all  Richard  talks  about  now.  He's  per- 
pectly  wild  to  go  himself.  Though  he's  only  sev 
enteen  and  a  half,  he  is  six  feet  tall  and  so  strong 
he  could  take  a  man's  place.  He  says  if  they'd 
so  much  as  give  him  a  chance  to  drive  an  ambu 
lance  he'd  be  satisfied,  but  his  father  won't  con 
sent. 

He's  running  his  Cousin  James'  car  this  sum 
mer  instead  of  the  regular  chauffeur,  and  keeping 
it  in  repair.  Mr.  Milf ord  pays  him  a  small  salary, 
and  (nobody  knows  it  but  me)  Richard  is  saving 
every  cent.  He  says  if  he  can  once  get  across  the 
water  he'll  find  some  way  to  do  his  part.  In  the 
meantime  he's  digging  away  at  his  French,  and 
Uncle  Darcy's  son  Dan  is  teaching  him  wireless. 
He's  so  busy  some  days  I  scarcely  see  him.  It's 
so  different  from  the  way  it  was  last  summer  when 
he  was  at  our  house  from  morning  till  night. 

The  same  jolly  crowds  are  back  this  summer 
at  the  Gray  Inn  and  the  Nelson  cottage,  and  Laura 
Nelson's  midshipman  cousin  from  Annapolis  is 


GEORGINA  BEGINS  HER  MEMOIRS    25 

here  for  a  week.  I  shall  not  name  and  describe 
them  now,  but  simply  group  them  as  minor  char 
acters. 

Laura  says,  however,  that  she  feels  sure  that 
the  midshipman  is  destined  to  be  anything  but 
a  minor  character  in  my  life.  She  prophecies  he 
will  be  leading  man  in  a  very  short  while.  That 
is  so  silly  in  Laura,  although,  of  course,  she 
couldn't  know  just  how  silly,  because  I've  never 
explained  to  her  that  I  am  dedicated  to  a  Career. 

I  have  not  said  positively  that  I  shall  never 
marry,  and  sometimes  I  think  I  might  be  happier 
to  have  a  home  and  about  four  beautiful  and  in 
teresting  children ;  that  is,  if  it  could  be  managed 
without  interfering  with  my  one  great  ambition 
in  life.  But  positively,  that  must  come  first,  no 
matter  what  the  cost.  Only  thus  can  1  reach  the 
high  goal  I  have  set  for  myself  and  write  mine  as 
"one  of  the  few,  the  immortal  names  that  were 
not  born  to  die. ' ' 


CHAPTER  H 

THE   MISUNDERSTOOD    'TEENS 

"0  FOR  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness"  where 
I  could  write  without  anybody  butting  in  to  ask 
what  I'm  doing !  I  suppose  it's  the  penalty  I  must 
pay  now  for  having  been  such  a  vain  little  pea 
cock  in  the  beginning.  Because  father  praised  my 
first  letters  when  I  was  learning  to  write,  I  passed 
them  over  to  the  family  for  more  praise  before 
sealing  them.  Now  they've  grown  to  feel  that  it 
is  their  right  to  read  them,  and  to  expect  it  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

It  is  the  same  way  with  all  my  attempts  at 
stories  and  verses.  If  I  should  take  to  turning 
the  key  in  the  door  at  this  late  day,  they'd  think 
it  queer,  and  I'm  afraid  Barby  wrould  feel  a  bit 
hurt  and  shut  out  of  my  life,  because  we've  al 
ways  shared  everything  of  that  sort. 

So  I  just  carry  the  book  around  with  me  in  my 
knitting  bag,  and  scribble  a  few  lines  whenever 
there  is  an  opportunity.  Most  of  this  will  have 
to  be  written  down  on  the  beach  where  I  am  now. 

26 


THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS        27 

It's  too  hot  up  in  the  garret  these  days.  I  sit 
cross-legged  in  the  sand  behind  an  overturned 
rowboat,  drawn  up  out  of  reach  of  the  tide.  All 
that  can  be  seen  of  me  from  the  house  is  a  big 
garden  hat  flopping  down  over  the  shoulders  of 
my  pink  smock.  Smocks  and  flopping  hats  are  as 
common  as  clams  in  this  old  fishing  town,  full  of 
artists  and  summer  girls,  so  when  I  tuck  my 
"wealth  of  nut-brown  curls"  up  out  of  sight,  no 
body  recognizes  me  at  a  little  distance.  If  any  one 
comes  along  I  begin  knitting  on  a  bright  blue  muf 
fler  that  I'm  making  for  a  Belgian  orphan.  It 
seems  dreadfully  deceitful,  but  what  else  can  I 
do? 

I  haven't  any  place  where  I  can  keep  the  book 
between  times.  Tippy  is  such  a  thorough-going 
housekeeper  that  she  knows  what  is  in  every 
drawer  and  closet  in  this  house,  from  top  to  bot 
tom.  Neither  she  nor  Barby  would  dream  of  read 
ing  a  diary  or  even  a  scrap  of  writing  belonging 
to  any  one  else  but  me.  But  they  think  of  me  as 
a  part  of  themselves,  I  suppose,  or  as  still  such 
an  infant  that  if  they  were  to  come  across  this 
they'd  smile  indulgently  and  say,  "The  dear 
child.  Was  anything  ever  so  diverting  and 
clever!"  And  they'd  read  it  with  that  pleased, 
proud  expression  you  see  on  a  family's  face  when 


28        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

they  discover  the  baby's  first  tooth  or  find  that  it 
can  stand  alone. 

I'd  keep  it  at  Uncle  Darcy's,  down  at  Fishburn 
Court,  but  I  seldom  go  down  there  now  oftener 
than  once  a  week,  and  I  want  to  make  a  practice 
of  filling  a  few  pages  every  day. 

Fishburn  Court  would  be  an  ideal  place  in  which 
to  write.  It's  a  cluster  of  little  old  houses  set 
around  the  edge  of  a  sand  dune,  and  hidden  away 
from  the  heart  of  the  town  by  some  tall  buildings. 
A  crooked,  sandy  lane  leads  into  it  from  one  of 
the  back  streets.  There's  an  apple-tree  in  Uncle 
Darcy's  yard  with  thick  grass  under  it,  and  a  two- 
seated  wooden  swing  where  an  old  yellow-nosed 
cat  sleeps  all  day.  You  can  look  up  and  see  bil 
lowy  white  clouds  floating  in  the  blue  overhead, 
and  smell  the  salt  of  the  sea,  but  it's  so  shut  in 
that  although  it's  only  a  short  distance  from  the 
beach  you  barely  hear  the  chug  of  the  motor  boats, 
and  the  street  cries  are  so  faint,  that  you  feel 
you're  far,  far  away  from  the  world,  like  a  nun  in 
a  cloister. 

Sitting  there,  I've  sometimes  thought  I'd  like 
to  be  that — a  nun  in  a  cloister,  to  walk  with  rapt, 
saint-like  face,  my  hands  folded  lily- wise  over  my 
breast.  It  must  be  lovely  to  feel  that  one  is  a 
pure  white  saint,  a  bride  of  heaven.  Sometimes  I 


THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS        29 

think  I'd  rather  be  that  than  a  world-renowned 
author. 

I  often  wonder  what  great  part  I'm  destined  to 
play  in  the  universe.  Really  the  world  is  so  full 
of  things  to  do  and  be,  that  one  needs  as  many 
lives  as  a  cat.  I'd  like  one  life  in  which  to  be  a 
nun,  another  an  actress,  another  in  which  to  shine 
as  a  peerless  wit  and  beauty,  the  social  leader  in 
a  brilliant  salon  like  that  great  French  madame — 
I  can't  think  of  her  name.  Then,  of  course,  there's 
the  life  I  want  for  my  literary  career,  and  one  in 
which  to  be  just  a  plain  wife  and  mother. 

One  thing  is  certain,  if  I  ever  have  a  daughter 
I'll  try  to  remember  how  a  girl  feels  at  my  age; 
although  I  don 't  see  how  one  who  has  been  one  can 
ever  forget.  And  there  are  some  things  she  shall 
be  allowed  to  decide  for  herself.  R.  B.  (As  long 
as  I  was  a  mere  child  Barby  seemed  to  understand 
me  perfectly.  But  now  that  I  lack  only  one  paltry 
inch  of  being  as  tall  as  she  is,  she  doesn't  seem 
able  to  get  my  point  of  view  at  all.  She  doesn't 
seem  to  realize  that  I've  put  away  childish  things, 
and  that  when  you're  in  your  teens  you're  done 
with  doll-rags.) 

There  is  nothing  so  bitter  in  life  as  being  mis 
understood.  If  you  have  cruel  step-parents  who 
mistreat  you  out  of  pure  meanness,  everybody 
sympathizes  with  you.  But  if  you  have  devoted 


30         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

own  parents  who  hurt  you  through  a  mistaken 
idea  that  they're  doing  it  for  your  own  good,  no 
body  sympathizes  with  you.  I  'd  rather  be  beaten 
or  locked  in  my  room  on  bread  and  water  than 
have  Minnie  "Waite  or  Daisy  Poole  tagging  after 
me  forevermore. 

I  wasn't  at  home  the  day  Mrs.  Saxe  came 
around,  organizing  the  "Busy  Bees"  to  do  Red 
Cross  work  for  the  Belgians.  But  Barby  put  my 
name  down  and  paid  the  fifty  cents  dues,  and  said 
I  'd  be  glad  to  do  my  part.  Well,  I  am  glad,  but  I  'd 
already  been  trying  to  do  it  ever  since  the  war 
started  "over  there."  I've  rolled  bandages  every 
Saturday  afternoon  and  taken  part  in  two  plays 
and  waited  on  the  table  at  all  the  lawn  fetes,  and 
I'm  knitting  my  sixth  sweater  for  French  and  Bel 
gian  orphans. 

But  I  draw  the  line  at  being  a  "Busy  Bee,"  and 
meeting  around  with  a  lot  of  little  girls  not  one 
of  them  over  thirteen  and  most  of  them  younger. 
And  Minnie  Waite  has  a  crush  on  me  anyhow,  and 
is  harder  to  get  rid  of  than  a  plague  of  sand-fleas. 
I  could  have  cried  wrhen  Barby  told  me  what  she 
had  let  me  in  for,  and  I  couldn't  help  sounding 
cross  when  I  said  she  might  at  least  have  consulted 
me  first.  It  was  too  much  to  have  that  miserable 
bunch  of  kids  wished  on  to  me. 

But  Barby  only  reminded  me  that  I  was  using 


THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS        31 

slang,  and  said  cheerfully,  "Did  it  ever  occur  to 
you,  Baby  Mine,  that  you  are  three  whole  years 
younger  than  Laura  Nelson,  and  yet  you  want  to 
be  with  her  every  moment1?  Possibly  she  may  feel 
that  you  are  tagging." 

Laura  is  one  of  the  summer  girls,  and  Barby 
never  has  approved  of  our  intimacy,  just  because 
she  is  so  much  older  and  has  college  men  coming 
to  see  her  now  instead  of  High  School  boys  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  I  didn't  attempt  to  explain 
to  Barby  that  we  are  as  congenial  as  twins,  and 
that  Laura  seeks  my  society  quite  as  much  as  I  do 
hers.  I  think  Barby  hoped  that  I'd  become  so  in 
terested  in  the  Busy  Bees  that  I  wouldn't  have  any 
time  for  Laura,  and  she  said  a  great  deal  about 
them  needing  a  leader,  and  how  much  good  I  could 
do  if  I  went  into  it  as  an  enthusiastic  president 
instead  of  a  half-hearted  one. 

Of  course,  when  she  put  it  that  way,  the  privi 
lege  and  duty  of  being  an  inspiration  whenever 
possible,  I  had  to  give  in  as  gracefully  as  I  could. 
But  I'm  done  now,  after  yesterday's  perform 
ance. 

I  was  over  at  Laura's  to  lunch.  Her  midship 
man  cousin,  Mr.  Tucker,  was  off  on  a  fishing  trip, 
but  he  was  to  be  back  early  in  the  afternoon  and 
she  wanted  me  to  take  him  off  her  hands  while 


32        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

she  talked  to  some  one  else.  Her  most  ardent 
admirer  was  coming  to  call. 

So  she  put  my  hair  up  for  me  the  way  she  wears 
hers,  flat  over  her  ears  and  a  sort  of  soft,  fluffy 
whirl  on  top,  and  loaned  me  a  pair  of  her  green 
silk  stockings  and  high-heeled  white  slippers,  in 
stead  of  my  "growing  girl"  pumps  that  Father 
insists  upon.  I  have  somewhere  read  that  "The 
consciousness  of  being  well  dressed  imparts  a 
blissfulness  to  the  human  heart  that  even  religion 
is  powerless  to  give  or  take  away,  and  its  im 
portance  can  hardly  be  over-estimated  by  the 
feminine  mind." 

I  heartily  agree,  for  just  that  difference  in  hair 
and  heels  made  me  feel  and  act  perfectly  grown 
up.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Tucker  thought  I  was  as  old 
as  I  seemed  from  the  way  he  called  me  "Miss 
Huntingdon. ' '  And  he  had  such  a  complimentary 
way  of  looking  at  me,  and  was  so  appreciative  of 
my  repartee  that  I  found  it  easier  to  talk  to  him 
than  any  one  I  had  ever  met  before.  I  found 
myself  discussing  the  deep  questions  of  life  with 
him  with  an  ease  I  couldn't  have  had,  if  I  had 
been  conscious  of  juvenile  curls  bobbing  over  my 
shoulders. 

But  right  in  the  middle  of  our  interesting  con 
versation  came  the  most  awful  racket.  A  donkey- 
cart  full  of  girls  drove  in  from  the  street,  past 


THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS        33 

the  window  where  we  were  sitting.  Minnie  Waite 
was  standing  up,  driving,  her  hair  streaming  like 
a  wild  Amazon.  And  they  all  yodelled  and  cat 
called  till  I  went  out  on  the  porch.  It  was  the 
dreadfullest  noise  you  ever  heard,  for  the  donkey 
balks  every  other  step  unless  he's  headed  for 
home,  and  the  only  way  they  can  make  him  travel 
is  to  shake  a  tin  can  half-full  of  pebbles  behind 
him. 

They  asked  had  I  forgotten  that  the  Busy  Bees 
were  to  have  an  extra  meeting  at  my  house  to 
dress  dolls  for  the  Bazaar,  and  the  whole  bunch 
was  over  there  waiting.  They  couldn't  start  till 
I  got  there,  me  being  president,  and  my  mother 
said  for  me  to  get  straight  into  the  cart  and  go 
back  with  them. 

I  knew  perfectly  well  that  Barby  had  never 
sent  any  such  sounding  message  as  that,  but  I 
also  knew  the  only  way  to  keep  them  from  making 
matters  worse  was  to  get  them  away  as  soon  as 
possible.  They  were  talking  at  the  tops  of  their 
voices,  and  nobody  knew  what  they'd  say  next. 
The  quickest  way  to  stop  them  was  to  climb  into 
that  babyish  donkey-cart  and  jolt  off  with  them, 
just  like  a  kid  myself. 

So  I  ran  back  and  explained  to  Laura  and  made 
my  hurried  adieux.  Mr.  Tucker  went  down  the 
steps  with  me  to  help  me  in.  Of  course,  those 


34         GEOKGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

horrid  children  noticed  my  green  stockings,  as 
I'd  never  worn  that  color  before,  and  they  made 
remarks  about  them  and  my  high  heels,  when  I 
tripped  going  down  the  steps,  not  being  used  to 
them.  I  would  have  fallen  all  over  myself  if 
Mr.  Tucker  hadn't  caught  me.  He  didn't  seem  to 
hear  what  they  were  saying,  but  Laura's  little  sis 
ter  Dodo,  who  was  hanging  over  the  railing  of  the 
upstairs  porch,  listening  like  the  long-eared  little 
pitcher  that  she  is,  called  down  in  her  high,  shrill 
voice : 

* '  Oh,  Georgina !  You  've  forgotten  your  pumps, 
and  are  going  off  in  Laura's.  Wait.  I'll  throw 
them  down  to  you. ' ' 

"Well,  of  course  the  donkey  balked  just  then 
and  wouldn't  start  till  they  began  rattling  the  tin 
can  full  of  stones,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  pande 
monium  there  was  a  whack-bang!  on  the  porch 
steps,  and  down  came  my  old  flat-heeled  Mary- 
Jane  pumps,  with  my  white  stockings  stuffed  in 
side  of  them.  Mr.  Tucker  picked  them  up  and 
put  them  in  the  cart.  He  made  some  awfully  nice, 
polite  speech  about  Cinderella,  but  I  was  so  mor 
tified  and  so  mad  that  I  turned  perfectly  plum- 
colored  I  am  sure.  As  we  dashed  off  I  wished  I 
could  be  a  real  busy  bee  for  about  a  minute.  A 
vicious  one. 

Now  I  feel  that  I  never  want  to  lay  eyes  on  Mr. 


THE  MISUNDERSTOOD  'TEENS       35 

Tucker  again  after  such  a  humiliating  experience. 
It  is  a  pity,  for  he  is  the  most  congenial  man  I 
ever  met.  Our  views  on  the  deeper  things  of  life 
are  exactly  the  same. 

The  worst  of  it  is  I  can't  explain  all  that  to 
Barby.  She  made  light  of  the  affair  when  I  cried, 
and  told  her  how  the  girls  had  mortified  and  em 
barrassed  me.  Said  it  was  foolish  to  take  such 
a  trifle  to  heart  so  bitterly;  that  probably  Mr. 
Tucker  would  never  give  it  a  second  thought,  or 
if  he  did  he  would  laugh  over  the  incident  and  the 
little  girl,  and  forget  them  entirely. 

But  that  was  cold  comfort.  I  couldn't  tell  her 
that  I  didn't  want  to  be  laughed  at,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  be  forgotten  by  the  first  and  only  really 
congenial  man  I  had  ever  met.  Yet  I  might  have 
told  her  all  that  if  she  had  approached  me  dif 
ferently.  I  long  to  confide  in  her  if  she  would 
talk  to  me  as  one  woman  to  another. 

Instead,  she  referred  to  a  little  Rainbow  Club 
that  Richard  and  I  started  long  ago.  We  pre 
tended  that  every  time  we  made  anyone  happy  it 
was  the  same  as  making  a  rainbow  in  the  world. 
She  asked  me  if  I  was  tired  of  being  her  little 
prism,  and  to  think  how  happy  I  could  make  those 
girls  by  interesting  myself  in  their  affairs,  and  a 
whole  lot  more  like  that. 

It  made  me  so  cross  to  be  soothed  in  that  kind, 


36 


GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 


kindergarten  way  that  while  she  was  talking  I 
burrowed  back  in  my  closet  as  if  looking  for  some 
thing  and  said  "Darn!"  in  a  hollow  whisper,  be 
tween  set  teeth.  One  can't  "be  a  kitten  and  cry 
mew"  always. 


CHAPTER  HI 

IN   THE  SHADOW  OF   WAS 

LAST  Wednesday  I  spent  the  day  at  Fishburn 
'Court.  My  visits  seem  to  mean  so  much  to  Aunt 
Elspeth,  now  that  her  time  is  divided  between 
her  bed  and  wheeled  chair.  I  improvised  a  cos 
tume  and  did  the  song  and  dance  for  her  that  I 
am  going  to  give  in  the  French  Relief  entertain 
ment  next  week.  And  I  made  a  blueberry  pie  for 
dinner,  and  set  the  little  kitchen  in  shining  order, 
and  put  fresh  bows  on  her  cap,  and  straightened 
out  all  the  bureau  drawers. 

When  everything  you  do  is  appreciated  and  ad 
mired  and  praised  until  you  are  fairly  basking  in 
approval,  it  makes  you  feel  so  good  inside  that 
you  want  to  keep  on  that  way  forever.  You  just 
love  to  be  sweet  and  considerate.  But  afterwards 
it's  such  a  comedown  to  go  back  home  to  those  who 
take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  you  should  be 
helpful,  and  who  feel  it  is  their  duty  to  improve 
your  character  by  telling  you  what  your  duty  is. 
It  rubs  you  the  wrong  way,  and  makes  life  much 
harder. 

37 


38        GEOBGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

Somehow,  going  to  Fishburn  Court  is  like  climb 
ing  up  into  the  Pilgrim  monument  and  looking 
down  on  the  town.  Seen  from  that  height,  the 
things  that  loomed  up  so  big  when  you  were  down 
on  their  level  shrink  to  nothing.  Maybe  it  is  be 
cause  Uncle  Darcy  and  Aunt  Elspeth  have  lived 
so  very,  very  long  that  they  can  look  down  on  life 
that  way  and  see  it  from  a  great  height  as  God 
does.  I  always  think  of  them  when  I  read  that 
verse,  "A  thousand  years  in  thy  sight  is  but  as 
yesterday."  That  is  why  nothing  seems  to  mat 
ter  to  them  very  much  but  loving  each  other  and 
their  neighbors  as  themselves. 

I  came  away  from  there  resolved  to  turn  over 
a  new  leaf.  I  am  sorry  now  that  I  said  what  I  did 
the  other  day  in  the  closet,  but  I  don't  feel  that  I 
have  a  right  to  blot  it  out  of  this  record.  The 
good  and  the  bad  should  stand  together  in  one's 
memoirs.  It  makes  a  character  seem  more  human. 
I  never  felt  that  I  had  anything  in  common  with 
Washington  until  I  read  that  he  sometimes  gave 
away  to  violent  fits  of  anger. 

I  am  now  resolved  to  make  those  Busy  Bees  the 
power  for  good  which  Barby  thinks  I  can,  and 
quit  thinking  of  my  own  feelings  in  the  matter, 
of  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  have  them  eternally 
tagging  after  me.  After  all,  what  difference  will 
it  make  a  thousand  years  from  now  if  they  do 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR  39 

tag!  WTiat  difference  if  one  little  ant  in  the  uni 
verse  is  happy  or  unhappy  for  one  atom  of  time? 
When  you  think  of  yourself  that  way,  as  just  a 
tiny  ant  sitting  on  the  equator  of  eternity  you 
can  put  up  with  almost  anything. 

A  whole  week  has  gone  by  since  I  wrote  the 
above  sentence,  and  in  that  time  the  most  exciting 
thing  has  happened,  in  addition  to  celebrating  my 
sixteenth  birthday.  The  birthday  came  first. 
Barby's  gift  to  me  was  a  darling  rowboat, 
light  and  graceful  as  a  cockle-shell.  Uncle  Darcy 
carved  my  initials  on  the  oars,  and  Eichard  came 
after  dark  the  night  before  and  dragged  it  up  into 
the  yard,  and  tied  it  under  the  holiday  tree.  Next 
morning  my  presents  were  all  piled  in  the  boat 
instead  of  being  tied  to  the  branches,  for  which 
I  was  very  thankful.  It  made  me  feel  that  I  had 
come  to  a  boundary  line  which  the  family  recog 
nized,  when  they  discarded  the  old  custom  of  deco 
rating  the  holiday-tree.  They  no  longer  consid 
ered  me  an  infant. 

I  have  been  wild  for  a  boat  of  my  own  for  two 
years,  and  was  so  excited  I  could  scarcely  eat 
my  breakfast.  I  was  out  in  it  all  day,  first  with 
Barby  and  Eichard,  and,  afterward,  with  Babe 
Nolan  and  Judith  Gilfred,  who  came  to  lunch. 
Ordinarily,  I  would  fill  pages  describing  my  pres- 


40        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

ents  and  what  we  did,  but  I  can't  wait  to  tell  the 
climax. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Richard  came  again  and 
rowed  me  over  to  the  Lighthouse  and  back.  When 
we  came  up  the  beach  on  our  way  home  to  supper 
the  sun  was  just  setting.  It  was  all  so  beautiful 
and  I  was  so  happy  that  I  began  humming  "The 
End  of  a  Perfect  Day."  But  it  wasn't  the  end, 
for  when  we  went  into  the  house  the  exciting  thing 
happened.  Who  should  rise  up  suddenly  in  the 
dusk  and  put  his  arms  around  me  but  Father, 
home  on  unexpected  shore  leave.  I  hadn't  seen 
him  for  a  year. 

Even  Barby  didn't  know  he  was  coming.  It 
seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  he  should  be  in 
time  for  the  lighting  of  my  birthday  candles.  As 
if  it  wasn't  more  than  enough  just  to  have  him 
back  again,  safe  and  sound,  he  brought  me  the 
most  adorable  little  wrist-watch,  and  from  then 
on  till  midnight  when  my  eyes  weren't  on  him 
they  were  on  it.  It's  so  heavenly  to  have  every 
body  in  the  world  that  you  love  best  and  every 
thing  you  want  most  all  together  at  the  same 
time. 

We  had  to  talk  fast  and  crowd  as  much  as  pos 
sible  into  the  hours.  I  felt  that  I  had  at  last 
stepped  into  my  field  Elysian,  when  nobody  said 
a  word  about  my  running  along  to  bed.  I  think 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR  41 

they  would  have  let  me  sit  up  though,  even  if  I 
hadn't  been  sixteen,  the  time  was  so  precious. 

Up  till  this  time  the  war  had  seemed  a  far 
away,  unreal  thing,  just  like  the  tales  we  used  to 
shudder  over,  of  the  heathen  babies  thrown  to 
the  crocodiles.  I  had  been  working  for  the  Bed 
Cross  and  the  Belgian  orphans  in  the  same  spirit 
that  I've  worked  for  the  Missionary  Society, 
wanting  to  help  the  cause,  but  not  feeling  it  a 
personal  matter.  But  when  Father  talked  about 
it  in  his  grave,  quiet  way,  I  began  to  understand 
what  war  really  is.  It  is  like  a  great  wild  beast, 
devouring  our  next-door  neighbors  and  liable  to 
spring  at  our  throats  any  minute.  It  is  something 
everybody  should  rise  up  and  help  to  throttle. 

I  understand  now  why  Richard  is  so  crazy  on 
the  subject.  It  isn't  just  thirst  for  adventure,  as 
his  cousin  James  says,  although  "Dare-devil 
Dick"  is  a  good  name  for  him.  He  sees  the  dan 
ger  as  Father  sees  it,  and  wants  to  do  his  part  to 
rid  the  world  of  it.  He  talked  a  long  time  with 
Father,  begging  him  to  use  his  influence  to  get 
him  into  some  kind  of  service  over  there.  But 
Father  says  the  same  thing  that  Mr.  Moreland  did. 
That  he's  too  young,  and  the  only  thing  for  him 
to  do  is  to  go  back  to  school  in  the  fall  and  fit 
himself  for  bigger  service  when  his  country  has 
greater  need  of  him.  Richard  went  off  whistling, 


42        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

but  I  knew  he  was  horribly  disappointed  from  the 
way  his  hat  was  pulled  down  over  his  eyes. 

The  next  morning  when  I  went  down  to  break 
fast  I  felt  as  if  the  wild  beast  had  already  sprung 
as  far  as  our  door-step,  if  not  actually  at  our 
throats,  for  Barby  sat  pale  and  anxious-eyed  be 
hind  the  coffee  urn,  and  her  lips  were  trembly 
when  I  kissed  her  good-morning.  Father  had  re 
ceived  his  orders  to  report  in  Washington  in 
forty-eight  hours,  and  we  had  hoped  to  keep  him 
with  us  at  least  two  weeks.  He  is  called  to  a 
consultation  about  some  extensive  preparations 
to  be  made  for  marine  hospital  work.  He  had  al 
ready  been  notified  that  he  was  to  be  put  at  the 
head  of  it,  and  he  may  have  to  go  abroad  to  study 
conditions,  almost  immediately. 

I  knew  from  the  dumb  misery  in  Barby 's  eyes 
she  was  thinking  of  the  same  things  I  was — sub 
marines  and  sunken  mines,  etc.,  but  neither  of 
us  mentioned  them,  of  course.  Instead,  we  tried 
to  be  as  jolly  as  possible,  and  began  to  plan  the 
nicest  way  we  could  think  of  to  spend  our  one  day 
together.  Suddenly  Father  said  he'd  settle  it. 
He'd  spend  it  all  with  me,  any  way  I  chose,  while 
Barby  packed  her  trunk  and  got  ready  to  go  back 
to  Washington  with  him.  He'd  probably  be  there 
a  week  or  ten  days  and  he  wasn't  going  one  step 
without  her. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR  43 

Then  I  realized  how  grown-up  one  really  is  at 
sixteen.  A  year  ago  I  would  have  teased  to  be 
taken  along,  and  maybe  would  have  gone  off  in  a 
corner  and  cried,  and  felt  dreadfully  left  out  over 
such  an  arrangement.  But  I  saw  the  glance  that 
passed  between  them  when  he  said  it,  and  I  under 
stood  perfectly.  Barby's  face  was  radiant.  You 
may  adore  your  only  child,  but  the  love  of  your 
life  comesi  first.  And  it  should.  I  was  glad  they 
wanted  to  go  off  that  way  on  a  sort  of  second 
honeymoon  trip.  It  would  be  dreadfully  sad  to 
have  one's  parents  cease  to  be  all  in  all  to  each 
other.  Babe  Nolan's  mother  and  stepfather  seem 
that  way,  bored  to  death  with  each  other. 

Two  things  stand  out  so  vividly  in  that  last 
day  that  I  never  can  forget  them.  One  is  our 
walk  down  through  the  town,  when  I  almost  burst 
with  pride,  going  along  beside  Father,  so  tall  and 
distinguished  looking  in  his  uniform,  and  seeing 
the  royal  welcome  people  gave  him  at  every  step. 
They  came  out  of  the  stores  and  the  houses  to 
shake  hands  with  him,  the  people  who'd  known 
him  as  a  little  boy  and  gone  to  school  with  him, 
and  they  seemed  so  really  fond  of  him  and  so  glad 
to  have  him  back,  that  I  fairly  loved  them  for  it, 
even  people  I  hadn't  liked  especially  before. 

The  second  thing  was  the  talk  we  had*up  here  in 
the  garret  in  the  gable  window-seat,  when  he  came 


44         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

up  to  look  for  some  things  he  had  packed  away 
in  one  of  the  chests,  twenty  years  ago. 

We  did  lots  of  other  things,  of  course;  went 
rowing  in  the  new  boat  to  a  place  on  the  beach 
where  he  used  to  picnic  when  he  was  a  boy.  We 
took  our  lunch  along  and  ate  it  there.  After 
wards  we  tramped  back  into  the  dunes  a  little 
way,  just  to  let  him  feel  the  Cape  Cod  sand  in  his 
shoes  once  more,  he  said.  It  was  high  tide  when 
we  got  back  to  the  boat-house,  so  we  got  our  bath 
ing  suits  and  went  in.  He  was  so  surprised  and 
pleased  at  some  of  my  diving  stunts,  and  taught 
me  a  new  one.  He  is  a  magnificent  swimmer  him 
self. 

His  hair  is  iron  gray  at  the  temples,  and  I've 
always  been  halfway  afraid  of  him  before — that 
is,  afraid  to  say  right  out  whatever  I  happened 
to  think  or  feel.  But  it  was  different  this  time. 
I  felt  that  he  understood  me  better  than  anybody 
else  in  the  world,  even  as  well  as  Barby  used  to, 
when  I  was  younger.  As  we  went  back  home  he 
said  the  nicest  thing.  He  said  it  seemed  to  him 
that  we  must  have  been  boys  together  at  some 
time  in  our  lives.  That  I  was  such  a  jolly  good 
chum. 

I  can't  think  about  that  last  evening  or  the  go 
ing  away  yesterday  morning  without  the  tears 
starting.  But  I'm  thankful  I  didn't  break  down 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  WAR  45 

at  the  station.  I  couldn't  have  kept  from  it  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Captain  Kidd,  who  frisked 
along  with  us.  Just  at  the  hardest  moment  he 
stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  saluted.  I'd  never 
seen  him  do  it  before.  It 's  a  trick  Richard  taught 
him  lately.  It  was  so  cunning  everybody  laughed, 
and  I  managed  to  pull  myself  together  till  the 
train  started. 

But  I  made  up  for  it  when  I  got  back  home 
and  came  up  here  to  the  gable  window-seat  where 
Father  and  I  had  that  last  precious  talk  together, 
with  his  arm  around  me  and  my  head  on  his  shoul 
der.  I  nearly  bawled  my  eyes  out  as  I  recalled 
each  dear  thing  he  said  about  my  being  old  enough 
now  to  understand  business  matters,  and  what  he 
wanted  me  to  do  in  case  the  United  States  went 
to  war;  how  I  was  to  look  after  Barby  if  any 
thing  happened  to  him ;  and  what  I  was  to  do  for 
Uncle  Darcy  and  Dan's  children.  That  he  relied 
on  me  just  as  if  I  were  a  son,  because  I  was  a 
true  Huntingdon,  and  no  Huntingdon  woman  had 
ever  flinched  from  a  duty  or  failed  to  measure  up 
to  what  was  expected  of  her. 

I  keep  thinking,  what  if  he  should  never  come 
back  to  talk  to  me  again  in  that  near,  dear  way. 
But  ...  I'll  have  to  stop  before  any  more 
splashes  blot  up  this  page. 


CHAPTER  IV 

HER  IDEAL  GIRL  STEPS  IN 

AT.T.  the  time  Barby  was  gone  I  didn't  write  a 
line  in  this  record.  I  couldn't.  Things  seemed 
too  trivial.  Besides,  the  house  had  that  strange, 
hushed  air  that  you  feel  at  a  funeral  when  you're 
waiting  for  it  to  begin.  I  couldn't  bear  to  touch 
the  piano.  It  didn't  seem  right  to  be  playing  gay 
tunes  while  there  was  such  awful  sorrow  in  the 
world,  and  in  all  probability  Father  and  Barby 
were  spending  their  last  days  together. 

I  declined  the  invitation  to  Laura  Nelson's 
dance  on  that  account,  and  after  Tippy  had  gone 
to  bed  I  put  on  Barby 's  only  black  dress,  a  chif 
fon  dinner  gown  that  she  had  left  behind  in  her 
closet,  and  sat  by  the  window  in  the  moonlight, 
listening  to  the  music  of  piano  and  drum  floating 
up  from  the  Nelson  cottage.  I  had  turned  the 
silver  trimming  in  so  as  not  to  show,  and  looking 
down  on  the  clinging  black  folds  that  trailed 
around  me,  I  pictured  to  myself  so  vividly  the 
way  an  orphan  or  a  young  widow  must  feel,  that 

46 


HEE  IDEAL  GIRL  STEPS  IN          47 

the  tears  splashed  down  into  my  lap  till  I  was 
afraid  it  would  make  the  chiffon  all  crinkly.  The 
dance  music  sounded  perfectly  heartless  to  me.  I 
could  understand  how  bitter  it  might  make  one  feel 
who  was  really  in  mourning. 

When  Barby  came  home  and  I  told  her  about 
it,  she  said  that  I  should  have  gone  to  the  dance ; 
that  our  first  duty  to  ourselves  and  the  world  is 
to  keep  ourselves  normal.  After  I'd  spent  the 
morning  helping  her  unpack  and  hearing  every 
thing  she  had  to  tell  about  her  week  with  Father 
and  his  departure  to  some  unknown  port,  she 
told  me  she  wanted  me  to  stay  out  of  doors  all 
Jthe  rest  of  the  day.  I  must  go  on  the  Quest  of 
Cheerful  Things,  and  she  hoped  that  I'd  be  able 
to  report  at  least  two  adventures. 

The  two  things  which  happened  are  that  I  went 
to  a  furniture  auction  and  met  my  ideal  girl. 
While  they're  not  particularly  cheerful  things, 
they're  important  enough  to  be  recorded  here. 

It  began  by  Babe  Nolan  bumping  into  me  as  I 
turned  a  corner,  after  I'd  been  out  nearly  half 
the  afternoon.  Babe  is  a  far  cry  from  anybody's 
ideal  girl,  that  is,  as  far  as  looks  and  manners  are 
concerned,  but  she  has  her  good  points.  For  one 
thing  she  is  absolutely  sincere,  and  it's  always 
interesting  to  hear  what  new  trouble  she 's  been  in. 

She  had  her  bathing  suit  bundled  carelessly 


48        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

under  her  arm,  and  said  she  couldn't  stay  be 
cause  she'd  promised  to  be  up  at  the  West  End 
beach  by  four  o  'clock,  and  it  was  almost  that  time 
then.  But  she'd  heard  that  there  was  a  furniture 
auction  going  on  in  front  of  the  old  Holloway 
house,  which  has  been  vacant  for  years,  and  she 
just  had  to  go  by  and  see  if  there  was  a  white 
bedstead  in  the  lot,  with  hollow  brass  balls  on  the 
posts.  She  was  sure  that  there  couldn't  be,  be 
cause  she  'd  been  told  that  the  furniture  had  been 
brought  up  from  Truro  or  Wellfleet,  or  some  place 
down  the  Cape.  It  belonged  to  relatives  of  the 
Holloway  family.  Still  she  felt  possessed  to  look, 
and  she  supposed  she'd  go  through  life  like  the 
"Wandering  Jew,  looking  for  that  bedstead  and 
never  finding  it. 

Then  she  told  me  why.  Babe  is  very  unfortu 
nate  in  her  family  life,  having  a  stepfather  which 
complicates  matters.  All  her  brothers  and  sisters 
are  either  steps  or  halves.  She  has  no  whole  ones. 
And  they  are  all  socialists  in  a  way,  believing  in 
a  community  of  interests,  such  as  wearing  each 
other's  clothes  without  asking,  and  using  each 
other's  things.  Right  while  Babe  was  talking  to 
me  she  had  on  one  of  her  half-brother  Jim's  out 
ing  shirts,  turned  in  V  at  the  neck  instead  of  her 
own  middy  blouse,  because  Viola  had  walked  off 
with  her  last  clean  one. 


HER  IDEAL  GIRL  STEPS  IN          49 

With  everybody  free  to  root  through  her  bureau 
drawers,  and  with  no  locks  in  the  house  that  work, 
of  course  she  has  absolutely  no  privacy,  and  she 
had  several  letters  that  she  wouldn't  have  the 
family  read  for  worlds.  They  were  too  sacred, 
and  she  couldn't  bear  to  destroy  them,  for  they 
breathed  devotion  in  every  line,  and  were  her  first 
of  the  kind.  She  thought  of  burying  them  under 
the  garden  hedge,  but  that  would  have  necessi 
tated  digging  them  up  every  time  she  wanted  to 
re-read  them,  and  there  was  danger  of  the  puppy 
trailing  her  and  unearthing  them  if  she  went  too 
often  to  that  hallowed  spot. 

One  night  just  before  she  and  Viola  went  to 
Yarmouth  for  a  visit,  she  found,  quite  by  accident, 
that  the  brass  balls  on  her  bedposts  were  screwed 
on  and  were  hollow.  So  she  folded  the  letters  up 
small  and  stuffed  them  into  one,  with  a  dried  rose 
and  a  broken  cuff-link  that  had  associations,  and 
screwed  it  back  tight. 

What  was  her  horror  when  she  came  home  two 
weeks  later  to  find  that  her  mother  had  had  the 
room  done  over  in  their  absence  as  a  surprise  for 
her  and  Viola.  She  had  bought  twin  beds  of 
bird's-eye  maple  and  given  one  old  bed  to  a  Sal 
vation  Army  man  who  was  going  through  town 
collecting  junk,  and  sent  the  other  to  a  camp  up 
in  the  White  Mountains  where  her  mother's  peo- 


50         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

pie  go  every  year.  She  didn't  know  which  went 
where. 

Now  there's  no  telling  how,  when  or  where 
those  letters  will  next  see  the  light  of  day.  It  was 
bad  enough  to  lose  the  letters,  but  Babe  says  she'll 
simply  die  if  they  fall  into  her  Aunt  Mattie's 
hands.  She's  the  prim,  cold  kind  who  makes  you 
feel  that  anything  sentimental  should  never  be 
mentioned.  It's  something  to  be  ashamed  of. 
Tippy's  that  kind. 

I  have  written  all  this  out  not  because  it's  im 
portant  in  itself,  but  because  it 's  a  link  in  a  chain. 
If  I  hadn't  happened  to  meet  Babe  and  go  with 
her  to  hunt  for  that  bedstead,  I  wouldn't  have 
been  at  the  auction  when  my  ideal  girl  came  along, 
or  when  Kichard  drove  by  and  I  hailed  him  to 
borrow  a  quarter,  and  he  stopped  and  saw  her. 
What  she  said  and  what  he  said,  and  what  hap 
pened  afterward  was  like  a  game  of  "Conse 
quences." 

All  sorts  of  stuff  lay  around  on  the  grass — 
dishes  and  bed-slats  and  odd  andirons.  There  was 
a  beaded  mat  and  a  glass  case  of  wax  flowers,  and 
a  motto,  "The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd,"  cross- 
stitched  in  pink  and  gray  worsted,  sitting  right 
out  on  the  grass.  Babe  said  probably  it  was  the 
work  of  hands  long  dead  and  gone,  and  didn't 
it  seem  sad  that  they  should  come  to  this  end! 


51 


But  the  tide  was  in  and  she'd  have  to  go.  She 
might  have  known  she'd  not  find  that  bedstead. 
"Would  I  walk  up  to  the  beach  with  her  ? 

But  I  told  her  no,  I'd  just  rummage  around 
awhile  longer  to  see  what  else  there  was  for  sale. 
Maybe  I  could  get  some  "local  color"  that  way. 
Babe  knows  about  my  writing.  She  is  one  of 
the  girls  I  read  my  novel  to,  and  she  respects  my 
talent.  So  she  left  me.  I  did  get  some  local  color 
by  staying,  and  took  out  my  pencil  and  pad,  which 
I  always  carry  around  in  my  knitting  bag,  and 
made  a  note  of  it. 

An  old-fashioned  hoop-skirt  was  thrown  across 
a  rose-bush,  and  a  black  silk  bonnet  lay  under  it, 
beside  a  pair  of  worn  shoes.  Both  the  bonnet  and 
the  shoes  had  what  Tippy  calls  a  ''genteel"  air, 
and  made  me  think  they  must  have  belonged  to  a 
prim  maiden  lady  with  proud  nose  and  slender 
feet,  probably  called  "Miss  Althea."  The  name 
came  to  me  like  an  inspiration,  I  could  almost  see 
her  standing  by  the  rose-bush. 

Just  then  some  boys,  who  were  wrestling 
around,  bumping  into  everything,  upset  a  barrel 
on  the  grass,  and  a  great  pile  of  framed  photo 
graphs  came  rolling  out.  Some  of  them  were  com 
ical  enough  for  a  Sunday  supplement,  women  in 
tight  basques  and  little  saucer  hats,  and  men  with 
whiskers — beards  or  perfectly  ridiculous  bushy 


52         GEOKGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

"burnsides."  A  crowd  of  summer  people  began 
making  joking  remarks  about  them  to  set  each 
other  to  laughing. 

But  there  was  one  in  an  oval  walnut  frame  that 
I  couldn't  bear  to  have  them  make  fun  of,  the 
photograph  of  a  lady  with  a  little  boy  leaning 
against  her  shoulder.  She  had  a  strong,  kind  face, 
with  such  steadfast  eyes  looking  straight  at  you, 
that  you  just  knew  everybody  went  to  her  with 
their  troubles.  The  boy  was  a  dear  little  fellow, 
serious  as  a  judge,  with  his  hair  brushed  in  a  long 
roll  on  the  top  of  his  head  in  one  of  those  old- 
fashioned  coxcomb  curls. 

One  of  the  girls  from  the  hotel  picked  it  up  and 
began  declaiming  a  verse  from  " Somebody's 
Darling,"  that's  in  one  of  our  school  readers. 

"Kiss  him  once  for  somebody's  sake. 

****** 

One  bright  curl  from  its  fair  mates  take 

They  were  somebody's  pride  you  know." 

It  came  over  me  in  a  great  wave  how  I  would 
feel  if  it  were  Barby's  picture  thrown  out  that 
way  for  strangers  to  ridicule  and  step  on,  or  the 
one  I've  always  loved  of  Father,  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  hugging  his  white  rabbit.  I  felt  that  I 
simply  must  save  it  from  further  desecration. 
The  only  way  was  to  buy  it.  The  man  said  I  could 


HER  IDEAL  GIRL  STEPS  IN          53 

have  any  frame  in  the  barrel,  picture  thrown  in 
free,  for  twenty-five  cents,  without  waiting  for  it 
to  be  put  up  at  auction.  They  were  in  a  hurry  to 
get  through.  I  told  him  I'd  take  it,  then  I  discov 
ered  I  hadn't  a  penny  left  in  my  knitting  bag.  I'd 
spent  my  last  one  on  the  way  down,  treating  Babe 
to  a  soda  water. 

It  was  right  while  I  was  standing  there  with  the 
frame  in  my  hands,  uncertain  whether  to  go  to  the 
bakery  and  borrow  a  quarter  or  ask  the  man  if 
he  'd  take  my  note  for  it  till  next  day,  that  Judith 
Gilfred  came  into  the  yard  with  a  girl  I'd  never 
seen  before.  I  knew  at  a  glance  that  it  must  be 
the  cousin  she'd  been  expecting  from  the  South. 
She 's  talked  about  her  for  a  month,  and  said  such 
gushing  things  that  I  was  prepared  to  see  quite 
a  pretty  girl,  but  not  the  most  beautiful  one  I 
had  ever  seen  in  my  life.  That 's  what  she  is,  and 
also  my  ideal  of  all  that  is  gracious  and  lovely  and 
sweet. 

She 's  a  blonde  with  the  most  exquisite  hair,  the 
color  of  amber  or  honey,  with  little  gold  crinkles 
in  it.  And  her  eyes — well,  they  make  you  think 
of  clear  blue  sapphires.  I  loved  her  from  the  mo 
ment  Judith  introduced  us.  Loved  her  smile,  the 
way  it  lights  up  her  face,  and  her  voice,  soft  and 
slow,  blurring  her  r's  the  way  Barby  does.  From 
her  little  white-slippered  feet  to  the  jewelled  van- 


54         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

ity  box  on  a  slender  chain  around  her  neck,  she 
looks  exactly  as  I'd  choose  to  look  if  I  could  make 
myself  over.  Her  name  is  Esther  Gilfred. 

Judith  must  have  told  her  as  much  about  me  as 
me  about  her,  for  she  was  so  cordial  and  dear. 
Judith  has  been  my  most  intimate  friend  ever 
since  I  started  to  school.  Esther  was  so  inter 
ested  in  the  auction.  One  of  her  greatest  charms 
I  think  is  her  enthusiasm  for  whatever  you  hap 
pen  to  be  interested  in.  She  made  the  picture  I 
was  carrying  around  seem  doubly  desirable, 
just  by  saying  in  that  indescribably  charming  way 
of  hers  that  antique  frames  are  quite  the  rage  now. 
There  is  such  a  fad  for  them  in  her  town. 

We  must  have  spent  more  than  half  an  hour 
poking  around  among  all  the  queer  old  things  be 
ing  auctioned  off,  when  I  heard  the  honk  of  an 
automobile  horn,  which  I  recognized  as  Richard's. 
He  was  signaling  me.  He  had  slowed  down  as  he 
came  opposite  the  place,  to  see  why  such  a  crowd 
was  gathered  in  there,  and,  as  he  did  so,  caught 
sight  of  us. 

He  stopped  when  I  waved  to  him,  and  I  ran 
out  and  asked  him  to  loan  me  a  quarter.  As  he 
fished  one  out  of  his  pocket,  he  told  me  he'd  take 
me  home  if  I  was  ready  to  go. 

So  I  ran  back  to  pay  for  the  frame,  and  ask 
the  girls  what  time  they'd  be  ready  to  go  rowing 


HEE  IDEAL  GIEL  STEPS  IN  55 

next  morning.  "While  Judith  was  answering,  Es 
ther  laid  her  hand  on  my  arm  in  her  enthusiastic 
way  and  exclaimed  in  a  low  tone,  "Who  is  that 
young  Apollo  you  spoke  to  ?  He  has  the  most  gor 
geous  dark  eyes  I  ever  saw,  and  the  shoulders  of 
an  athlete.  He 's  simply  stunning ! ' ' 

On  the  way  home  I  told  Richard  what  Esther 
said  about  him.  He  looked  so  pleased  and  con 
scious,  that  it  was  funny  to  watch  his  face. 

''Which  one  said  it?"  he  asked.  "The  little 
goldilocks  in  blue,  or  the  one  under  the  red  para 
sol?" 

I  surely  was  astonished,  for  I  had  no  idea  that 
Ei  chard  was  so  observing.  Heretofore,  he  had 
never  seemed  to  notice  how  girls  looked,  or  what 
they  wore. 


CHAPTEE  V 

A  PHOTOGRAPH   AND   SOME   DAY-DREAMS 

I  DON'T  believe  compliments  are  good  for  the 
male  mind.  They  go  to  their  heads.  Up  to  this 
time  in  all  the  years  I've  known  Richard,  I'd 
never  seen  him  walk  up  to  a  mirror  and  deliber 
ately  stare  at  himself,  except  when  we  were  hav 
ing  a  face-making  contest,  and  trying  to  see  which 
could  look  the  ugliest. 

But  the  first  thing  he  did  after  we  went  into 
the  house  was  to  stop  in  front  of  the  hall  mirror 
and  square  back  his  shoulders.  Then  he  turned 
and  looked  at  himself,  a  long,  slow  glance  out  of 
the  corner  of  his  eyes,  and  walked  away  with  such 
a  satisfied  air  that  I  was  dying  to  laugh.  All  the 
rest  of  the  evening  he  had  a  sort  of  set-up,  lordly 
way  about  him  that  he  had  never  had  before.  I 
am  sure  that  it  was  the  effect  of  Esther's  com 
pliment. 

Barby  asked  him  to  stay  to  supper,  and  he  did, 
to  hear  all  about  her  Washington  trip.  He  talked 
to  her  sort  of  over  my  head,  as  if  I  were  a  little 

56 


don't  think  compliments  are  good  for  the  male  mind. 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  AND  DAY-DREAMS    57 

girl  who  couldn't  understand  the  great  war  meas 
ures  which  interested  him.  It  amused  me  im 
mensely,  for  every  one  knows  that  a  girl  of  six 
teen  is  far  more  mature  than  a  boy  of  seventeen 
and  a  half.  But  I  didn't  say  anything,  just  smiled 
to  myself  as  I  sat  and  knit  and  listened. 

After  supper  when  I  brought  out  the  oval  frame 
to  show  the  family  what  a  bargain  I  got  for  a 
quarter,  I  had  the  surprise  of  my  life.  Tippy 
recognized  the  photograph  in  the  frame.  She  said 
there  were  probably  a  dozen  like  it  hanging  up  in 
various  parlors  in  Wellfleet.  It  was  the  picture  of 
a  minister 's  wife  she  had  known  years  ago.  * '  Sis 
ter  Wynne,"  everybody  called  her,  whether  they 
went  to  that  church  or  not,  because  she  was  so 
widely  beloved.  The  little  boy's  name  was  John. 

"When  this  little  John  was  just  a  baby,  Brother 
Wynne  had  a  call  to  a  big  church  out  West.  On 
the  way  there  they  came  up  to  Provincetown  to 
take  the  boat,  and  they  stayed  all  night  with 
Grandfather  Huntingdon  in  this  very  house. 
Tippy  was  here  on  a  visit  at  the  time,  and  remem 
bers  it  perfectly.  Several  years  later  the  Wynnes 
had  this  picture  taken  to  send  back  to  friends  in 
their  old  parish,  and  let  them  see  how  little  John 
had  grown.  Miss  Susan  Triplett  at  Wellfleet  has 
one. 

It  seems  too  strange  for  words  to  think  that 


58         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

once  upon  a  time  they  slept  in  our  big  downstairs 
guest  chamber  in  the  bed  with  the  bird-o '-paradise 
valance  and  the  pink  silk  tester,  and  that  years 
and  years  afterward  I  should  find  their  picture 
in  a  barrel  at  an  auction,  and  bring  it  home  and 
hang  it  up  in  that  very  room. 

That's  what  I  did  after  supper  while  Richard 
was  drawing  maps  on  the  margin  of  the  Boston 
Transcript,  showing  Barby  where  the  Allies  were 
entrenched.  I  washed  the  glass  and  drove  a  nail, 
and  hung  it  up  over  a  little  serving  table  between 
the  windows.  Then  I  stepped  back  and  held  up 
the  lamp  to  see  the  effect.  It  seemed  to  belong 
there,  and  the  little  fellow's  big,  serious  eyes 
looked  straight  out  at  me,  as  if  they  were  saying : 
"Yes,  I  know  you,  and  I  came  back  on  purpose  to 
be  put  into  your  story." 

He  seemed  so  real  to  me  that  as  I  went  out, 
carrying  the  lamp,  I  looked  back  over  my  shoul 
der  and  whispered,  "Good-night,  little  John 
Wynne. ' ' 

Then  I  went  upstairs  to  get  another  skein  of 
yarn  and  wind  it  on  Tippy 's  swift.  All  the  time  I 
was  doing  it  I  kept  thinking  of  the  events  of  the 
afternoon,  and  how  beautiful  Esther  Gilfred 
looked — how  adorable  she  was  in  every  way. 
Those  lines  from  Wordsworth  came  to  my  mind: 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  AND  DAY-DREAMS    59 

4 'She  was  a  phantom  of  delight 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight." 

Also  she  suggested  that  line  "Queen  rose  of  the 
rosebud  garden  of  girls!"  Suddenly  I  thought, 
why  not  write  a  poem  to  her  my  own  self.  At 
that,  a  whole  list  of  lovely  words  went  slipping 
through  my  mind  like  beads  along  a  string: 
lily  .  .  .  pearl  .  .  .  snow-crystal  .  .  .  amber  .  .  . 
blue-of-deep-waters  .  .  .  blue-of-sapphire-skies 
.  .  .  heart  of  gold.  She  makes  me  think  of  such 
fair  and  shining  things. 

But  it  was  hard  to  get  started.  After  trying 
ever  so  long  I  concluded  to  look  in  the  dictionary 
in  the  list  of  Christian  names  for  the  meaning  of 
Esther.  I  thought  that  might  suggest  something 
which  would  do  for  a  starter. 

When  I  went  back  downstairs  Richard  had  fin 
ished  his  map  drawing.  He  was  lying  on  the 
leather  couch,  as  he  so  often  does,  his  eyes  closed, 
and  his  hands  clasped  under  his  head,  listening 
to  Barby  play  the  piano.  He  certainly  did  look 
long,  stretched  out  full  length  that  way,  longer 
than  he  had  ever  seemed  before.  Maybe  Esther's 
calling  my  attention  to  him  the  way  she  did  made 
me  see  him  in  a  new  light,  for,  after  staring  at  him 
critically  a  moment,  I  had  to  admit  that  he  really 
was  as  good-looking  as  she  said  he  was. 


60        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

I  carried  the  big  dictionary  over  to  the  library 
table  and  opened  it  under  the  reading  lamp. 
Years  ago  we  had  looked  up  the  meaning  of  our 
names,  but  I  had  forgotten  what  Richard  meant 
until  my  eye  chanced  on  the  word,  as  I  glanced 
down  the  page.  I  didn't  want  to  interrupt  the 
music,  but  I  couldn't  resist  leaning  towards  him 
and  saying  in  an  undertone,  just  to  get  a  rise  out 
of  him: 

"Listen  to  this,  'Apollo,'  the  name  Richard 
means  'strong  like  a  ruler,  or  powerful.'  That's 
why  you  have  the  '  shoulders  of  an  athlete. '  ' ' 

But  he  didn't  even  open  his  eyes.  Just  gave  an 
indulgent  sort  of  smile,  in  rather  a  bored,  su 
perior  way  that  made  me  want  to  slap  him.  It 
was  as  much  as  to  say  that  I  was  carrying  coals 
to  Newcastle  in  telling  him  that. 

f'Well,"  I  said,  in  Tippy's  own  tone,  quoting 
what  she  always  tells  me  when  anybody  compli 
ments  me  in  her  presence,  *  *  *  There 's  nothing  last 
ing  you  will  find  but  the  treasures  of  the  mind.' 
So  you  needn  't  be  so  uppity,  mister. ' ' 

He  ignored  the  remark  so  completely  that  I  de 
termined  not  to  speak  to  him  again  all  evening. 
But  presently  I  was  forced  to  on  account  of  the 
interesting  fact  I  found  on  the  next  page.  It  was 
too  interesting  not  to  be  shared. 

"Beauteous  Being,"  I  remarked  in  a  half  whis- 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  AND  DAY-DREAMS    61 

per,  " don't  trouble  to  open  those  gorgeous  dark 
eyes,  but  listen  to  this.  The  name  Esther  means 
A  Star.  Isn  't  that  wonderfully  appropriate  ? ' ' 

His  eyes  flew  open  quickly  enough  at  that.  He 
turned  over  on  his  side  and  exclaimed  in  the  most 
interested  way : 

"Say,  I  was  just  thinking  what  a  peach  she  is, 
but  somehow  peach  didn't  seem  the  right  word. 
But  Star — that  fits  her  right  down  to  the  ground." 

And  that  from  Richard,  who  never  looks  at 
girls !  Seeing  how  interested  he  was  in  her  I  con 
fided  in  him  that  I  was  trying  to  write  a  poem  to 
her.  That  she  seemed  to  be  set  to  music  in  my 
thoughts,  and  that  she  continually  reminded  me 
of  lines  of  poetry  like  that  one  of  Tennyson's: 
"Shine  out  little  head,  running  over  with  curls,  to 
the  flowers,  and  be  their  sun." 

He  asked  me  what  that  was  in.  When  I  told 
him  "Maude,"  he  turned  over  on  his  back  again 
and  shut  his  eyes,  with  no  more  to  say.  But  when 
Barby  finished  the  ' '  Reverie ' '  she  was  playing  and 
he  got  up  to  go  home,  he  walked  over  to  the  book 
case  and  began  hunting  along  the  shelves.  He  al 
ways  helps  himself  to  whatever  he  wants.  When 
>e  slipped  a  book  into  his  pocket  I  looked  up  in 
;ime  to  see  that  it  was  one  of  the  little  blue  and 
gold  volumes  of  our  set  of  Tennyson.  Later  I 
found  he  had  carried  off  the  one  with  "Maude"  in 


62         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

it.  I  have  wondered  since  if  he  would  have  taken 
the  same  interest  in  Esther  if  I  hadn't  repeated 
her  compliment — if  it  was  that  which  started  him. 

Tippy  lost  no  time  next  morning  in  hunting  up 
the  auctioneer  and  finding  whose  furniture  he  was 
selling,  and  all  about  it.  "What  he  told  her  sent  her 
to  Wellfleet  on  the  noon  train  to  talk  over  old  times 
with  her  cousin  Susan  Triplett.  She  came  back 
at  supper  time  with  a  piece  of  news  wonderfully 
interesting  to  me. 

Little  John  Wynne  is  alive  and  really  is  back 
on  the  Cape.  But  he's  grown  up  now,  of  course. 
He's  a  physician.  He  worked  his  way  through  a 
Western  college  and  then  went  to  Harvard  for  his 
medical  degree.  This  summer  he  is  in  Yarmouth, 
taking  care  of  old  Doctor  Rawlins'  practice,  while 
he's  off  on  a  long  vacation. 

I  was  so  thrilled  over  all  that  Tippy  told,  that 
on  my  way  up  to  bed  I  slipped  across  the  hall  for 
another  look  at  the  picture  which  I  had  rescued. 
It  is  a  pity  that  "Sister  Wynne"  died  before  she 
knew  how  splendidly  he  turned  out.  She  would 
have  been  so  proud  of  him.  But  she  must  have 
known  that  he'd  grow  up  to  be  the  kind  of  man 
that  Miss  Susan  says  he  is,  because  they  look  so 
much  alike — the  same  steadfast,  dependable  sort 
of  eyes  and  mouth. 

As  I  stood  there,  holding  the  flickering  candle. 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  A^D  DAY-DREAMS  63 

with  the  wax  melting  and  running  down  its  side, 
I  thought  how  wonderful  it  would  be  if  fate  should 
some  time  bring  our  paths  in  life  together.  There 
are  so  many  ways  that  might  be  done.  He  might 
be  called  here  in  consultation  any  day.  Dr.  Raw- 
lins  often  is.  Or  he  might  come  up  here  to  spend 
a  week-end  as  hundreds  of  people  do,  because  the 
town  is  quaint  and  has  historic  associations.  I 
wondered  if  I'd  recognize  him  from  his  likeness  to 
this  baby  picture  or  to  his  mother,  if  I  should  hap 
pen  to  meet  him  suddenly — say  going  into  the 
post-office  or  strolling  along  the  wharf.  I  felt 
sure  something  would  tell  me  that  it  might  be  he. 

Then  I  began  imagining  the  most  dramatic 
scene,  just  as  if  I  were  reading  it  in  a  novel  of 
which  I  was  the  heroine.  I  would  be  taking  part 
in  an  entertainment  at  the  Town  Hall,  giving  the 
Fire-fly  dance  maybe,  first  with  the  spot-light  fol 
lowing  me,  and  then  with  hall  and  stage  darkened 
to  give  that  wonderful  fire-fly  effect,  and  all  the 
tiny  points  of  electric  lights  hidden  in  my  costume 
flashing  on  and  off.  And  lie  would  be  watching 
out  there  in  the  darkness,  from  the  front  row, 
watching  intently  every  graceful  move. 

Then  all  at  once  something  would  go  wrong 
behind  the  scenes.  A  cloud  of  fire  and  smoke 
would  suddenly  sweep  across  the  stage,  shutting 
me  off  from  escape  and  almost  suffocating  me. 


64         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

There  would  be  a  moment  of  awful  silence  while 
the  audience  gazed  transfixed  with  horror.  Then 
out  of  the  darkness  he  would  leap  forth,  tearing 
off  his  coat  as  he  sprang  up  on  the  stage  to  wrap 
it  around  my  filmy  dress,  already  aflame,  and  I 
would  fall  unconscious  in  his  arms,  overcome  by 
the  smoke. 

Long  hours  afterward  when  I  opened  my  eyes, 
his  face  would  be  bending  anxiously  over  me,  and 
I'd  smile  wanly  up  at  him,  and  he'd  say  in  a  chok 
ing  whisper, ' '  Thank  heaven,  she  lives ! "  I  would 
be  lying  in  this  downstairs  guest  chamber  instead 
of  my  own  room,  this  being  handier,  and  presently 
he'd  see  this  picture  of  himself  hanging  on  the 
wall.  Then — well,  suffice  it  to  say,  it  would  lead 
finally  to  a  beautiful  and  touching  scene  like  the 
one  I  saw  at  the  movies  Wednesday  afternoon,  in 
the  last  act  of  "The  Harvest  Moon." 

After  I  went  upstairs  that  night,  I  thought  of 
still  another  way  for  us  to  meet,  which  I  shall 
write  down  because  it  would  make  a  good  scene  in 
a  novel,  and  I  am  beginning  to  think  I  shall  start 
another  one  soon  instead  of  "Divided,"  which 
now  seems  amateurish  and  childish  to  me.  This 
is  the  scene. 

I  would  be  a  beautiful  Eed  Cross  nurse,  serving 
with  the  Allies  somewhere  in  France.  Into  the 
ward,  where  I  was  keeping  vigil  some  night,  would 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  AND  DAY-DREAMS    65 

be  brought  a  wounded  officer,  a  member  of  the 
medical  corps  who  had  risked  his  life  giving  aid 
to  the  dying  in  the  trenches.  He  would  be  too 
badly  hurt  for  me  to  recognize  him  at  first,  till  I 
found  his  mother's  picture  over  his  heart,  and 
my  calling  his  name  would  bring  him  back  to  con 
sciousness. 

"How  did  you  find  me?"  he  would  murmur 
feebly.  "How  did  you  know?"  And  I'd  say, 
"Because,  far  away  across  the  seas  in  my  old 
home  on  Cape  Cod,  hangs  the  picture  of  l  little 
John  Wynne,'  as  he  used  to  be.  My  guardian 
angel  led  me  hither." 

"You  .  .  .  are  my  .  .  .  angel, "  he  would  whis 
per,  and  relapse  into  unconsciousness.  I  could 
make  it  awfully  effective  to  have  him  die,  after 
I'd  nursed  him  tenderly  for  weeks,  but  I  can't  bear 
to.  I  'd  rather  have  it  end  the  way  I  'd  want  it  to 
end  in  real  life  if  I  should  really  meet  him  on  a 
foreign  battle-field. 

Probably,  though,  if  I  ever  do  meet  him,  it  '11  be 
just  my  luck  to  be  coming  in  from  blue-berrying 
the  way  I  was  last  week  with  a  bee-sting  on  my 
lip  that  swelled  it  up  till  I  was  a  sight  for  the 
gods. 

Oh,  if  we  could  only  make  things  happen  actu 
ally  the  way  we  can  in  our  day-dreams,  what  a 
thrilling  thing  Life  would  be  from  start  to  finish  I 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   ONE  AND  ONLY  STAB 

"Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. ' ' 

THAT'S  Esther.  She  has  been  here  two  weeks, 
and  all  that  time  I've  been  trying  to  write  a  poem 
to  her  which  would  do  her  justice.  It  is  impos 
sible.  So,  since  coming  across  the  above  line  from 
Wordsworth,  I've  simply  called  her  "Star"  and 
given  up  trying.  She  likes  to  have  me  call  her 
that. 

She  is  so  wonderful  that  it  is  a  privilege  just 
to  be  in  the  same  town  with  her.  Merely  to  feel 
when  I  w^ake  in  the  morning  that  I  may  see  her 
some  time  during  the  day  makes  life  so  rich,  so 
full,  so  beautiful!  How  I  long  to  be  like  her  in 
every  way !  Since  that  cannot  be  I  try  to  live  each 
hour  in  a  way  that  is  good  for  my  character,  so  as 
to  make  myself  as  worthy  as  possible  of  her 
friendship.  For  instance,  I  dust  the  hind  legs  of 
the  piano  and  the  backs  of  the  picture  frames  as 

66 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAB     67 

conscientiously  as  the  parts  that  show.  I  work 
overtime  on  my  music  instead  of  skipping  practice 
hours  as  I  have  sometimes  done  in  the  past.  The 
most  unpleasant  tasks  I  go  through  gladly,  feeling 
that  the  rubbing  of  such,  although  disagreeable, 
puts  a  shine  on  one 's  soul  in  the  same  way  that  a 
buffer  polishes  the  nails. 

At  first  Richard  laughed  at  what  he  called  my 
infatuation,  and  said  it  didn't  pay  to  take  Emer 
son's  advice  and  " hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star." 
You  have  to  jerk  along  at  such  a  rattling  gait  to 
keep  up  that  it  soon  wears  out  an  ordinary  mortal. 
But  before  he  realized  what  had  happened  to  him 
his  wagon  was  hitched  as  firmly  as  mine,  and  to 
the  same  star. 

Esther  loves  to  motor,  so  he  takes  her  for  a 
long  drive  every  day  when  his  cousin  James 
doesn't  want  the  machine.  As  he  furnishes  his 
own  gasoline  for  such  pleasure  trips,  he  hasn't 
saved  very  much  of  his  wages  since  she's  been 
here,  to  put  in  his  "Going  abroad"  fund. 

Every  time  I  go  to  the  Gilf red's,  Esther  passes 
me  a  freshly  opened  box  of  candy.  All  the  boys 
send  it  to  her,  but  twice  in  the  last  week  I've  been 
sure  it  was  from  Richard.  The  first  one  had  a 
card  lying  on  top  that  she  turned  around  for  me 
to  read.  No  name — just  a  pencilled  line — "Queen 
Rose  of  the  rose-bud  garden  of  girls."  But  I 


68         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

know  Richard's  handwriting  as  well  as  I  know  my 
own.  Besides  he  learned  that  very  quotation  from 
me.  The  next  time  the  card  was  printed  instead 
of  written,  but  there  was  a  pansy  drawn  in  the 
corner,  and  the  sentence  was  in  French. 

Esther  asked  me  to  read  it.  She  said  she  was 
so  rusty  in  her  French  she  wasn't  sure  she  had 
translated  it  correctly.  It  said  "Pansies  are  for 
thought. ' '  Then  I  remembered  the  pansy  bed  out 
by  the  Gilf reds'  side  porch.  Richard  had  a  big 
purple  one  in  his  button-hole  the  other  day  when 
he  came  back  from  there.  But  that  was  no  proof, 
of  course,  because  I'd  seen  George  Woodson  with 
one,  and  also  Truman  Long.  Truman  draws  al 
most  as  well  as  Richard  and  is  always  making 
marginal  sketches  on  things,  but  Truman  never 
took  any  of  the  languages  but  dead  ones. 

But  later  on  when  Esther  said  she  and  Richard 
were  going  to  read  some  fables  together  to  help 
her  brush  up  her  French,  I  was  pretty  sure  he 
had  sent  that  second  box.  I  was  altogether  sure 
when  he  came  over  the  second  time  with  that  same 
pansy  in  his  buttonhole,  so  dry  and  dead  it  was 
all  shriveled  up.  I  knew  just  how  he  felt  about  it, 
that  it  was  too  sacred  to  throw  away.  I  feel  the 
same  way  about  whatever  her  fingers  touch.  So 
just  to  let  him  know  that  I  understood  and  sym 
pathized  like  a  real  sister  I  picked  up  Barby's 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR     69 

guitar  and  in  an  off-hand  sort  of  way  began  to 
sing  an  old  song  of  hers  that  he  knows  quite  as 
well  as  I  do. 

"Only  a  pansy  blossom,  only  a  withered  flower, 
Yet  to  me  far  dearer  than  all  in  earth's  fair 
bower. " 

I  hadn't  the  faintest  intention  of  teasing. him, 
but  he  seemed  to  take  it  that  way.  He  got  as  red 
as  fire  and  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently 
and  strode  out  of  the  room  as  if  he  were  pro 
voked.  It  seems  so  queer  to  think  of  him  having 
any  sentiment  in  connection  with  a  girl,  when  he 's 
always  been  so  indifferent  towards  them.  Still, 
Esther  is  so  star-like,  so  high  above  all  other  girls 
that  I  don't  wonder  that  even  he  has  yielded  to 
her  magic  influence. 

All  the  boys  are  crazy  about  her.  George  Wood- 
son  spends  most  of  his  waking  hours  there.  He 
sits  around  in  the  hammock  with  his  ukelele,  wait 
ing  for  her  to  come  out,  and  if  they  have  an 
engagement  and  go  off  and  leave  him,  he  just  sits 
and  waits  for  them  to  come  back.  Truman  Long 
has  composed  a  serenade  dedicated  to  her  that's 
really  awfully  sweet,  and  when  they  dance  at  the 
Gilf reds'  of  an  evening  the  boys  break  in  so  con 
tinually  that  Esther  doesn't  get  to  dance  around 


70         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

the  room  without  changing  partners.  It  must  be 
heavenly  to  be  so  popular. 

Babe  Nolan  has  a  sentence  copied  in  her  mem 
ory  book  which  she  says  is  a  test  of  whether  one 
is  truly  in  love  or  not.  She  thinks  it  is  from  Emer 
son.  '  *  When  a  single  tone  of  one  voice  can  make 
the  heart  beat,  and  the  most  trivial  circumstance 
associated  with  one  form  is  put  in  the  amber  of 
memory.  When  we  become  all  eye  when  one  is 
present  and  all  memory  when  one  is  gone. ' ' 

She  says  she  was  all  eye  when  she  used  to  be 
with  the  One  who  wrote  those  letters  which  are 
now  in  that  bedpost  somewhere  in  the  Salvation 
Army  or  the  White  Mountains,  and  she  was  all 
memory  when  he  was  gone.  And  if  it  happened 
that  it  was  his  voice  which  answered  when  she 
called  up  the  grocery  where  he  clerked,  she  was 
all  of  a  flutter,  and  couldn't  remember  whether 
her  mother  told  her  to  order  starch  or  stove  polish. 
I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  know  that  blissful  sen 
sation. 

According  to  Babe's  test  I  am  sure  of  the  last 
two  items  in  Richard's  case.  He  certainly  is  all 
eye  when  Esther  is  present,  and  the  most  trifling 
thing  she  says  or  does  is  cherished  in  the  amber 
of  his  memory.  I  can  tell  from  the  way  he  keeps 
coming  back  to  them  in  a  round-about  way  with 
out  mentioning  her  name. 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR     71 

Barby  has  noticed  the  difference  in  him,  too. 
He  doesn't  come  to  the  house  as  often  as  usual  for 
one  thing,  and  he  talks  about  something  besides 
war.  He  doesn't  mention  Esther's  name  to 
Barby,  but  he  brings  up  subjects  connected  with 
her  that  he's  never  been  interested  in  before. 
Things  they've  discussed  at  the  Gilf reds',  such  as 
the  difference  between  Southern  and  Northern 
girls,  and  what  constitutes  charm  in  a  woman,  and 
why  angels  are  always  painted  with  golden  hair 
and  nobody  ever  thinks  of  there  being  brunette 
angels  with  snappy  dark  eyes. 

When  I  told  Barby  he  was  helping  Esther  brush 
up  her  French,  she  gave  a  funny  sort  of  a  groan, 
and  said,  "Of  all  the  arrows  in  the  little  god's 
quiver  that  is  the  deadliest."  When  I  asked  what 
arrow,  she  said,  "Conjugating  a  familiar  verb  in 

a  foreign  tongue  with  a "  Then  she  broke 

off  suddenly  and  asked  what  kind  of  a  girl  I 
thought  Esther  really  was.  She  said  if  she  were 
the  right  kind  it  would  do  Richard  worlds  of  good 
to  be  interested  in  her,  but  she  couldn't  bear  to 
think  of  the  dear  boy  being  disillusioned  this 
early,  or  having  his  confidence  in  woman-kind 
shaken  by  a  shallow  little  flirt. 

I  told  her  that  shallowness  and  coquetry  were 
not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with 
Esther.  That  while  Richard's  a  nice  boy,  and 


72         GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

feeling  towards  him  as  I  do,  as  if  he  were  a  real 
brother,  I  want  him  to  have  the  very  best  things 
Life  can  give  him,  I  don't  consider  him  fine  enough 
and  noble  enough  for  such  an  angel  as  Esther. 
"With  her  lofty  ideals  only  a  Sir  Galahad  or  King 
Arthur  himself  is  worthy  of  her. 

Barby  has  met  her  several  times,  but  only  when 
there  were  a  lot  of  others  present.  She  had  no 
chance  to  talk  with  her  and  see  what  a  truly  fine 
and  strong  character  she  has.  She  could  see  only 
in  a  general  way  that  she  is  lovely  and  gracious. 
So,  not  knowing  her  as  I  know  her,  she  reminded 
me  again  of  that  old  prism  of  mine  and  the  way  I 
used  to  go  about  with  it  in  front  of  my  eyes,  put 
ting  rainbows  around  everything  in  sight. 

She  asked  if  I  was  sure  I  wasn't  looking  at 
Esther  in  some  such  way,  putting  a  halo  of  per 
fection  around  her  that  was  largely  of  my  own 
making.  She  said  she  did  that  twice  when  she 
was  in  her  early  teens.  Once  it  was  a  music 
teacher  she  was  infatuated  with,  and  once  her 
roommate  at  boarding  school.  She  looked  upon 
them  as  perfect,  and  nearly  died  of  disappoint 
ment  when  she  discovered  they  were  only  ordinary 
mortals. 

It  hurt  me  dreadfully  to  have  her  think  my 
adoration  of  Esther  was  nothing  but  a  schoolgirl 
infatuation.  She  must  have  seen  how  I  felt  and 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR     73 

she  must  have  changed  her  mind  about  Esther, 
for  lately  she  has  been  perfectly  lovely  about  en 
couraging  our  intimacy.  She  says  she'd  like  for 
me  to  invite  her  to  the  house  often,  and  that  I 
may  have  her  here  for  a  week  after  her  visit  with 
Judith  is  over.  And  she  suggested  several  things 
we  might  do  for  her  entertainment,  such  as  a 
picnic  at  Highland  Light,  and  a  motor-boat  trip 
over  to  the  weirs  to  see  the  nets  hauled  in. 

An  age  has  gone  by  since  I  wrote  of  the  above 
plans.  There  has  been  no  chance  to  carry  them 
out,  because  the  very  next  day  Mrs.  Gilf red  went 
to  Boston  and  took  Judith  and  Esther  with  her 
for  a  week.  Ever  since  they  left  I've  gone  around 
humming : 

""What's  this  dull  town  to  me? 
Eobin's  not  here." 

Only  I  change  it  to  "My  Star  is  not  here." 
The  only  thing  that  makes  the  loneliness  bear 
able  is  that  Barby  has  a  guest,  a  Miss  Helen 
Crewes,  who  is  a  Red  Cross  nurse.  She  is  going 
to  Flanders  very  soon,  and  she  is  up  here  rest 
ing.  She  gives  " First  Aid"  lessons  to  Barby, 
Tippy  and  me  in  the  evenings. 

Tuesday  when  the  Busy  Bees  met  here  she  put 


74         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

on  her  uniform  and  went  down  and  talked  to  the 
girls.  She  seemed  so  wonderful  and  so  set  apart, 
all  in  white  with  the  Red  Cross  blazing  on  her 
forehead,  and  she  talked  so  inspiringly  that  the 
girls  were  ready  to  rise  up  and  follow  her  to  the 
death.  They  didn't  want  to  go  home  when  the 
time  came,  but  hung  around  begging  her  to  tell 
some  more.  And  Minnie  Waite  said  that  if  any 
body  in  town  would  start  a  Melting  Pot  like  the 
one  Miss  Crewes  told  about  to  put  your  jewels  in 
for  the  cause,  she'd  throw  in  her  gold  thimble  and 
her  locket  and  her  silver  friendship  bracelet  that 
needs  only  one  more  link  to  complete  it. 

Barby  hasn't  invited  any  of  our  friends  to  meet 
Miss  Crewes  yet,  because  she's  just  off  a  hard 
case  that  nearly  wore  her  out.  She  says  she  must 
store  up  every  bit  of  strength  she  can  get  from 
the  dunes  and  the  sea,  for  what  lies  ahead.  So 
she  sits  down  on  the  beach  hours  at  a  time,  and 
goes  on  long  walks  by  herself.  When  I  take  her 
out  in  the  boat  she  scarcely  says  a  word.  But 
in  the  evenings  while  she's  teaching  us  first  aid 
bandaging,  etc.,  she  talks  so  thrillingly  of  her  ex 
periences  and  what  her  friends  are  doing  over 
there  that  I  could  listen  all  night. 

Barby  made  several  attempts  to  get  Richard  to 
come  over  and  meet  her,  but  he  hasn't  been  near 
here  since  Esther  went  to  Boston.  He  always 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR     75 

makes  some  excuse  when  Barby  telephones. 
Barby  says  it  would  do  him  good  to  meet  a  woman 
like  Miss  Crewes.  That  she'd  wake  him  up  out  of 
the  trance  he  is  in,  and  rekindle  his  old  enthusi 
asms.  Miss  Crewes  is  middle-aged,  for  she's  at 
least  thirty-eight,  and  she's  very  plain,  except 
when  she  talks.  Then  her  face  lights  up  till  you 
feel  as  if  a  lamp  had  suddenly  been  brought  into 
the  room. 

I  know  now  what  Barby  meant  by  trance.  It 
is  the  same  thing  as  being  "all  memory  when  one 
is  gone. ' '  Yesterday  Babe  Nolan  and  I  were  walk 
ing  along  the  street  together,  she  eating  an  apple, 
when  Richard  drove  by  without  seeing  us.  It  was 
up  along  in  one  of  the  narrowest  turns,  where  he 
had  to  pass  so  close  to  the  board  walk  that  the 
machine  nearly  grazed  it.  Yet  he  went  by,  per 
fectly  unconscious  of  us.  Never  looked  to  the 
right  nor  the  left,  and  never  even  heard  when  I 
called  to  him.  Usually  he  is  on  the  look-out  to 
wave  his  hand  to  anybody  h'e  knows.  When  he 
had  gone  by  Babe  said : 

"That  boy  doesn't  know  whether  he's  in  the 
body  or  out  of  the  body.  Somebody  ought  to  tell 
him  about  Esther  Gilfred.  It's  a  shame  to  let 
him  go  on  that  way  making  a  goose  of  himself." 

"Tell  him  whai  about  her?"  I  demanded. 

"Oh,  that  it's  all  a  bluff  about  her  brushing  up 


76        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAKS 

her  French.  She  doesn't  know  enough  French  to 
brush.  All  she  does  is  to  hold  the  dictionary  while 
he  reads.  She  can't  even  find  the  words  by  her 
self  half  the  time.  Besides  she's  years  older  than 
he  is,  although  she  passes  for  the  same  age.  And 
worse  yet — she's  engaged/' 

I  was  so  furious  that  I  contradicted  her  hotly, 
but  she  just  looked  at  me  over  the  apple  she  was 
biting  into,  with  the  calm,  unruffled  gaze  of  an 
old  Aztec.  Babe  can  be  the  most  provoking  per 
son  at  times  that  ever  lived.  She  prides  herself 
on  having  a  mathematical  mind,  and  being  exact 
about  facts  and  figures.  The  worst  of  it  is  she 
usually  is,  and  will  go  any  length  to  prove  she's 
right.  Although  I  know  in  this  case  she  must  be 
mistaken,  it  worries  me  in  spite  of  myself. 

She  said  that  one  day  at  the  Gilf reds '  they  were 
laughing  over  some  old  photographs  of  Esther 
and  Judith,  taken  when  they  were  babies.  On  the 
back  of  one  was  written:  "This  is  our  little 
Esther  at  the  age  of  six  months  and  six  days." 
It  was  signed  with  her  father 's  name  and  the  date. 
Esther  snatched  it  away  and  tore  it  up  before 
anyone  else  saw  it,  but,  Babe  says,  counting  up 
from  that  date  to  this,  Esther  is  all  of  three  years 
older  than  Richard.  She  is  twenty  and  a  half. 

And  she  said  that  twice  while  she  and  Viola 
were  visiting  in  Yarmouth,  their  Aunt  Rachel 


THE  ONE  AND  ONLY  STAR     77 

took  them  to  a  hop  in  Barnstable.  Both  times 
Esther,  who  was  visiting  in  Barnstable  then,  was 
there  with  the  man  she's  engaged  to.  He's  a 
doctor.  They  met  at  a  house-party  when  he  was 
a  medical  student  at  Harvard  and  she  was  at  a 
finishing  school  near  Boston.  Her  aunt  told 
Babe's  aunt  all  about  it.  They've  been  engaged 
nearly  a  year,  but  Esther  won't  have  it  announced 
because  she  says  it  would  spoil  her  good  times 
wherever  she  goes.  She'd  never  make  any  more 
conquests.  He's  so  busy  establishing  his  practice 
that  he  can't  pay  her  the  attention  and  give  her 
the  things  that  the  other  men  do. 

When  Babe  told  me  that  I  felt  as  if  the  solid 
ground  were  giving  away  under  my  feet.  She 
seemed  perfectly  sure  that  what  she  was  telling 
was  the  straight,  unvarnished  truth.  And  yet,  I 
cannot,  I  will  not  believe  that  Esther  would  stoop 
to  deceit  in  the  smallest  matter.  She  is  the  soul 
of  honor.  She  couldn't  be  sacredly  betrothed  to 
one  man  and  then  go  on  acting  exactly  as  if  she 
wasn't,  with  another.  Besides,  I  heard  her  say 
one  day  that  she  is  just  Judith's  age,  which  is 
seventeen,  and  another  time  that  she  was  "  heart 
whole  and  fancy  free." 

When  I  triumphantly  quoted  that  last  to  Babe 
to  prove  she  was  wrong  she  swallowed  another 
bite  of  apple  and  then  said,  "Well,  a  coquette 


78        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

might  be  all  that  and  at  the  same  time  engaged. 
And  she  is  engaged,  and  I  can  prove  it." 

All  I  could  trust  myself  to  say  was,  "Babe 
Nolan,  your  remarks  are  perfectly  insulting.  I'll 
thank  you  to  remember  you're  talking  about  my 
very  best  friend  and  the  very  finest  and  sweetest 
girl  I've  ever  known  in  my  whole  life." 

With  that  I  drew  myself  up  in  my  most  freezing 
manner  and  walked  off  and  left  her.  I've  wished 
since  that  I'd  thought  in  time  to  hurl  that  quota 
tion  from  Shakespeare  over  my  shoulder  at  her, 
but  I  didn't  think  of  it  till  I  was  nearly  home : 

"Be  thou  chaste  as  ice,  as  pure  as  snow, 
Thou  shalt  not  escape  calumny." 

Those  statements  of  Babe's  were  nothing  but 
out  and  out  calumny. 


CHAPTER   VII 

A  MODERN   SIR  GARETH 

YESTERDAY  morning,  just  to  oblige  me,  Miss 
Crewes  put  on  her  Red  Cross  uniform  and  went 
out  in  the  garden  with  me  to  let  me  take  some 
snapshots  of  her.  Barby  came  out  to  watch  us, 
sitting  on  the  stone  bench  under  the  apple  tree, 
with  her  knitting.  I  was  using  my  last  film,  pos- 
-  ing  Miss  Crewes  among  the  hollyhocks  by  the 
garden  wall,  when  we  heard  a  machine  drive  up 
and  stop  out  in  front.  The  next  minute  Eichard 
came  dashing  around  the  corner  of  the  house, 
bareheaded,  and  calling  Barby  in  such  a  breath 
less  way  that  I  knew  he  had  exciting  news  from 
the  front. 

Then  he  caught  sight  of  her  under  the  apple- 
tree,  and  came  striding  across  the  grass  to  her, 
his  head  up  and  his  face  fairly  shining.  As  we 
walked  over  towards  them  we  caught  parts  of  his 
sentences,  "It's  Dad — all  banged  up  and  in  the 
hospital.  One  of  the  bravest  things — so  proud  of 
him — it  chokes  me." 

79 


80         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

He  didn't  even  see  us  when  we  joined  them, 
for  he  had  pulled  a  handful  of  letters  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  was  shuffling  them  over  to  find  the  one 
that  brought  the  news.  A  comrade  of  Mr.  More- 
land's  had  written  it  and  his  nurse  added  a  post 
script.  No  one  thought  to  introduce  Miss  Crewes 
and  he  never  seemed  to  notice  a  stranger  was 
present  till  he  finished  reading.  And  then  there 
didn't  seem  to  be  any  need  of  an  introduction. 
She  just  held  out  her  hand  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  that  wonderful  light  in  her  face  which  comes 
when  she  talks  of  sacrifice  and  heroism,  and  he 
gripped  it  as  if  they  were  old  friends. 

That's  what  they've  seemed  to  be  ever  since. 
I  think  the  sight  of  that  red  cross  blazing  on  her 
uniform  waked  him  up  to  the  fact  that  she  is  con 
nected  in  a  way  with  the  same  cause  his  father  is 
suffering  for  now  in  the  hospital,  and  that  she 
wrould  be  in  sympathy  with  his  desire  to  get  into 
the  service,  and  possibly  might  be  able  to  help 
him.  He  couldn't  stay  then,  because  his  Cousin 
James  was  in  the  machine  out  in  front,  waiting 
for  him.  But  he  promised  to  come  back  later, 
said  there  were  a  hundred  questions  he  wanted  to 
ask  her. 

It  seems  strange  that,  in  the  midst  of  hearing 
such  a  big  vital  piece  of  news  about  a  real  hero, 
I  should  notice  a  trifle  like  the  following.  When 


A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH  81 

Richard  took  the  handful  of  letters  from  his 
pocket  and  began  shuffling  through  them  to  find 
the  one  from  France,  I  saw  without  being  con 
scious  that  I  was  staring  at  them,  that  they  were 
all  strangely  familiar — square  and  pale  blue.  In 
his  excitement  he  dropped  one,  and  there  on  the- 
flap  of  the  envelope  were  the  two  long  slim  silver- 
initials  that  I  know  so  well, l  '  E.  G. "  I  had  several 
notes  written  on  that  same  silver  and  blue  sta-. 
tionery  before  Esther  went  to  Boston,  tjiough; 
none  since. 

I  wasn't  conscious  of  counting  them  as  he^ 
passed  them  from  hand  to  hand,  but  I  must  have- 
done  so  automatically,  for  I  seem  to  remember- 
as  far  as  five,  and  that  it  was  the  sixth  one  he^ 
dropped.  He  was  so  absorbed  in  the  news  that, 
he  didn't  realize  he  was  making  a  public  display 
of  Esther 's  letters,  though  of  course  nobody  could; 
recognize  them  but  me.  I  think  maybe  for  the; 
moment  she  was  so  far  in  the  background  of  his 
thoughts  that  she  lost  her  importance  for  him. 

But  not  so  with  me.  Mingled  with  a  thrill  of 
happiness  over  Richard's  news,  was  a  feeling 
that  my  faith  in  Esther  had  bee«  vindicated. 
She  couldn't  have  written  to  him.  six  times  in. 
seven  days  if  she  had  been  sacredly  pledged  to  an 
other.  Babe  Nolan  is  wrong  for  oaee.  in  her  life, 
and  I  shall  have  the  joy  of  telling  &e.r.  S.Q,  before, 


82         GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STARS 

this  week  is  out.  I  know  I  am  not  putting  a  rain 
bow  around  Esther.  It  is  simply  that  love  gives 
me  a  clearer  vision  than  the  others  have — the 
power  to  see  the  halo  of  charm  which  encircles 
her. 

This  has  been  such  a  wonderful  day  that  I  can't 
close  my  eyes  until  I  have  made  a  record  of  it. 
First,  I  have  seen  Doctor  John  Wynne!  And 
second,  I've  found  out  something  about  him  which 
makes  me  honor  and  admire  him  more  than  any 
man  I  know  except  Father. 

Miss  Crewes  told  us  the  story,  but  she  didn't 
intend  to  tell  us  his  name,  nurses  being  bound  to 
respect  a  confidence.  It  came  out  quite  by  acci 
dent.  She  was  dreadfully  distressed  at  the  slip 
and  made  us  promise  we'd  never  repeat  it  to  a 
soul.  It  happened  this  way: 

Richard  had  the  machine  to  do  as  he  pleased 
with  today,  Mr.  Milford  being  out  of  town,  and 
he  and  Barby  arranged  a  little  picnic  for  Miss 
Crewes.  He's  taken  the  greatest  fancy  to  her. 
We  started  out  soon  after  breakfast  and  drove 
for  hours  through  the  perfectly  heavenly  summer 
morning,  stopping  at  each  little  village  along  the 
Cape  as  we  came  to  it,  to  tack  up  some  posters. 
They  were  posters  different  artists  had  painted 


A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH 


for  that  French  Relief  entertainment,  which  has 
been  postponed  so  many  times. 

At  lunch  time  we  stopped  by  the  side  of  the 
road  in  the  shade  of  a  pine  grove,  so  close  to  the 
water  that  we  could  see  the  blue  shining  through 
the  trees.  It  was  such  a  fascinating,  restful  spot 
that  we  sat  there  a  long  time  after  we  finished  our 
lunch. 

Richard  stretched  out  full  length  on  the  pine 
needles  with  his  hat  over  his  eyes,  and  the  rest 
of  us  took  out  our  knitting.  I  knew  he  was  think 
ing  of  Esther,  for  presently  he  brought  up  a  sub 
ject  which  we  have  discussed  several  times  at  the 
Gilf reds',  which  she  was  particularly  interested 
in.  It's  whether  the  days  of  chivalry  are  dead 
or  not,  and  if  men  were  not  nobler  in  the  days  of 
King  Arthur,  when  they  rode  forth  to  deeds  of 
prowess  and  to  redress  wrongs,  than  they  are 
now  when  their  highest  thought  is  making  money 
or  playing  golf. 

Esther  always  took  the  side  that  nobody  nowa 
days  measures  up  to  the  knights  of  the  Round 
Table,  and  that  she  wished  she  could  have  lived 
when  life  was  picturesque  and  romantic  instead 
of  in  these  prosaic  times.  I  think  what  she  said 
rather  rankled  in  Richard's  mind,  because  I've 
heard  him  refer  to  it  several  times.  Naturally  I 
sided  with  Esther,  for  her  arguments  seemed 


84         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

unanswerable.     Today  I  quoted  some  of  them. 

That  is  what  led  to  Miss  Crewes  telling  one  of 
her  experiences.  She  was  red-hot  for  the  other 
side,  and  said  I  might  name  any  deed  of  chivalry 
mentioned  in  the  "Idylls  of  the  King/'  and  she 
could  match  it  by  something  equally  fine,  done  in 
this  day  of  the  world,  by  some  man  she  was  per 
sonally  acquainted  with. 

Instantly  I  thought  of  the  story  of  ' '  Gareth  and 
Lynette,"  for  that  is  one  that  Esther  and  George 
Woodson  had  the  biggest  argument  over.  The 
part  where  Gareth  saves  the  baron's  life,  and 
when  asked  what  reward  he  would  have — "What 
guerdon  will  ye?" — answers,  "None!  For  the 
deed's  sake  liave  I  done  the  deed." 

Esther  once  said  she  thought  that  was  one  of 
the  noblest  sentences  in  all  literature.  As  soon 
as  I  quoted  it  Richard  raised  himself  on  one 
elbow  and  then  sat  up  straight.  He  could  see  by 
Miss  Crewes'  face  that  she  had  a  story  worth 
telling. 

"For  the  deed's  sake  have  I  done  the  deed," 
she  repeated  to  herself  as  if  searching  through 
her  memory.  Then  after  a  moment  she  said  tri 
umphantly,  "Yes,  I  have  a  Sir  Gareth  to  more 
than  match  yours.  He  is  a  young  physician  just 
beginning  to  make  good  in  his  practise,  and  he's 
had  a  far  harder  apprenticeship  to  win  his  pro- 


A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH  85 

fessional  spurs  than  ever  Gareth  served,  as  scul 
lion  in  the  King's  kitchen." 

Of  course,  it  being  a  nurse's  confidential  expe 
rience,  she  had  to  tell  the  story  in  the  most  imper 
sonal  way,  like  the  censored  war  reports  that  be 
gin  " Somewhere  in  France."  She  began  it: 

"Somewhere  in  a  little  seaport  where  I  was 
resting  one  summer, ' '  and  we  didn  't  know  till  she 
finished  it  that  it  was  Yarmouth  she  was  talking 
about,  and  that  it  was  this  summer  it  happened, 
only  two  weeks  ago,  and  that  she  was  talking 
about  the  last  case  she  nursed,  the  one  that  ex 
hausted  her  so.  She  wouldn't  have  taken  it,  as  she 
had  given  up  regular  nursing  and  was  taking  a 
vacation  before  going  abroad  in  the  Red  Cross 
service,  but  the  doctor  was  a  good  friend  of  hers 
and  seemed  to  think  it  was  a  life  and  death  matter 
to  have  her  help  in  such  a  critical  case. 

The  patient  was  a  fine-looking  young  fellow,  not 
much  more  than  a  boy,  although  they  found  out 
later  he  had  a  wife  and  baby  down  in  New  Jersey. 
All  they  knew  about  him  was  that  he  had  been  in 
that  neighborhood  about  three  months,  as  agent 
for  an  insurance  company,  and  was  taken  ill  in 
the  house  where  he  was  boarding.  It  was  typhoid 
fever  and  a  desperate  case  from  the  beginning. 
The  first  night  they  discovered  why.  It  came  out 
in  his  delirium,  in  broken  sentences. 


86         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

He  had  been  using  the  company's  money,  hold 
ing  back  the  premiums  in  some  way.  Of  course 
he  always  expected  to  replace  the  amounts  in  a 
short  time,  but  his  speculations  were  unfortunate 
and  he  had  not  succeeded  in  doing  so  when  he  was 
taken  ill.  And  now  he  was  in  an  agony  of  fear, 
tortured  by  the  thought  of  exposure  and  disgrace. 
His  ravings  were  something  pitiful.  He  kept 
starting  up  in  bed,  thinking  the  detectives  were 
after  him,  and  begging  them  not  to  arrest  him — 
to  give  him  one  more  chance. 

He  had  a  lucid  interval  next  morning  when  the 
doctor  questioned  him  and  he  made  a  full  con 
fession.  There  was  no  one  he  could  apply  to  for 
help.  His  own  people  had  nothing,  and  the 
(thought  of  his  wife  finding  out  his  dishonesty 
almost  crazed  him.  Miss  Crewes  said  it  was  one 
of  the  most  harrowing  experiences  she  ever  lived 
through.  There  was  no  place  for  her  to  go  but 
out  on  the  tiny  balcony.  She  stepped  through  the 
window  and  sat  on  the  railing  out  of  sight  of  the 
bed,  but  she  couldn't  help  hearing.  The  way  she 
told  it  made  us  feel  that  we  were  right  there  with 
her,  watching  the  doctor's  face,  and  reading  in  it 
as  she  did  the  struggle  going  on  in  his  mind.  He 
was  turned  so  he  could  not  see  her,  but  she  could 
see  every  expression  that  crossed  his  face. 

This  stranger  had  no  claim  on  him  whatsoever. 


A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH  87 

He  had  gotten  into  trouble  through  extravagance 
and  a  fast  life,  while  what  the  doctor  had  man 
aged  to  save  after  putting  himself  through  school 
had  been  earned  by  the  hardest  work  and  most 
frugal  living.  It  would  take  all  his  savings  to 
replace  the  stolen  funds,  and  he  had  been  piling 
it  up,  bit  by  bit,  for  a  cherished  purpose  of  his 
own.  Why  should  he  sacrifice  it  for  this  careless 
young  fellow,  who  by  his  own  confession  had  never 
denied  himself  anything?  And  yet,  to  stand  back 
and  see  him  go  down  that  path  abhorred  of  all 
men  to  exposure  and  public  disgrace  probably 
would  take  away  his  one  chance  of  recovery. 

For  a  long  time  the  doctor  sat  there,  looking 
past  the  restless  form  on  the  white  bed  to  the 
sky-line  of  the  little  town  that  showed  through 
the  open  window.  It  was  a  hard  decision  for 
him  to  make.  Finally  he  said  cheerfully : 

"It's  all  right,  old  chap.  Don't  worry  about  it 
any  more.  I'll  stand  between  you  and  trouble. 
I'll  send  my  check  to  the  company  for  you  this 
very  day." 

Then  the  boy  broke  down  again,  and  his  relief 
and  gratitude  were  almost  as  distressing  as  his 
fear  had  been.  "Well,  he  died  after  all,  though  they 
worked  to  the  utmost  to  save  him.  There  were 
some  complications.  And  it  was  all  so  pitiful,  the 
little  wife's  coming  on  with  the  baby  to  be  with 


88         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

him  those  last  few  days,  and  her  frantic  imploring 
of  them  to  save  him,  when  they  were  already  doing 
everything  in  human  power.  And  the  funeral 
and  everything,  and  her  going  back  home  with  his 
body.  The  one  thing  she  clung  to — the  only  thing 
that  comforted  her — was  the  thought  of  his  good 
ness  and  nobility  of  character,  and  that  she  must 
live  to  bring  up  her  little  son  to  be  worthy  of  his 
father's  memory. 

She  went  away  never  knowing  what  she  had 
been  spared.  The  doctor  didn't  have  even  her 
gratitude  to  reward  him,  because  she  didn't  know 
what  he  had  done.  And  nobody  will  ever  know 
but  Miss  Crewes  how  much  he  gave  to  wipe  out  a 
stranger 's  dishonor  and  let  him  die  with  his  repu 
tation  unstained.  Not  that  he  ever  mentioned  the 
matter  to  Miss  Crewes.  All  she  knew  was  what 
she  couldn't  help  overhearing.  But,  being  old 
friends,  he  had  told  her  in  the  beginning  of  the 
summer  why  he  was  working  so  hard  and  living 
so  frugally.  He  was  engaged  to  the  loveliest  girl 
in  Christendom,  and  expected  to  marry  her  as 
soon  as  his  bank  account  reached  the  place  where 
lie  could  give  her  the  things  she  was  accustomed 
to  having. 

"And  so  you  see,"  said  Miss  Crewes  in  ending 
the  story,  "there  was  no  possible  ' guerdon'  for 


A  MODERN  SIR  GARETH  89 

him.  It  was  done  solely,  purely,  for  the  deed's 
sake. ' ' 

"I'd  like  to  know  that  chap,"  said  Richard 
thoughtfully.  Then  for  a  moment  or  two  there 
was  a  deep  silence.  It  was  broken  by  the  sound 
of  a  noisy  little  automobile  rattling  down  the 
road.  As  it  came  nearer  Miss  Crewes  recognized 
it  and  started  to  her  feet  in  surprise.  "Well, 
this  is  the  most  remarkable  coincidence  that  ever 
was!"  she  exclaimed.  "There  he  is  this  blessed 
minute ! ' ' 

If  the  man  had  driven  on  by  we  wouldn't  have 
known  his  name,  and  probably  might  never  have 
discovered  it.  But  the  surprise  of  seeing  him 
made  her  forget  that  she  was  disclosing  the  iden 
tity  of  the  hero  of  her  story.  At  sight  of  her  he 
stopped  his  car,  got  out  and  came  over  to  where 
we  were  sitting,  to  speak  to  her.  After  a  cordial 
greeting  she  introduced  him  to  us.  And  he  was 
Doctor  John  Wynne. 

My  heart  beat  so  hard  that  I  was  sure  every 
body  must  hear  it.  To  meet  in  this  unexpected 
fashion  by  the  roadside  when  I  had  been  picturing 
all  sorts  of  romantic  ways!  And  yet  it  wasn't  a 
bit  strange  that  he  should  happen  by,  for  we  were 
only  a  couple  of  miles  out  of  Yarmouth,  and  his 
,  calls  were  liable  to  bring  him  along  that  road 
almost  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night. 


90         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

He  is  an  older  looking  man  than  I  imagined  him 
to  be.  He  has  that  keen  X-ray  gaze  that  doctors 
have  when  they're  asking  you  your  symptoms,  and 
I  was  afraid  that  he  'd  know  just  by  looking  at  me 
how  hard  my  heart  was  beating,  and  that  I'd 
made  up  all  those  romantic  day-dreams  about  him. 
My  guilty  conscience  made  my  face  burn  like  fire. 
I  looked  away  every  time  he  glanced  at  me.  I'd 
never  really  expected  to  have  him  appear  so  un 
expectedly.  Fortunately  he  stayed  only  a  few 
minutes  and  then  was  off  again  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Richard  stood  and  looked  after  him  till  he  was 
out  of  sight  and  then  said  slowly,  ''There's  noth 
ing  picturesque  about  a  rickety  second-hand  ma 
chine  like  that,  and  nothing  heroic  looking  about 
an  ordinary  village  doctor,  but  when  it  comes  to  a 
choice  between  them  and  one  of  your  old  guys  in 
armor,  it 's  me  for  the  modern  knight  every  time. ' ' 

Not  till  then  did  it  dawn  on  Miss  Crewes  that 
she  had  unwittingly  betrayed  a  confidence.  Then 
she  felt  perfectly  awful  about  it,  and  said  so  much 
that  we  swore  over  and  over  we'd  never  repeat 
what  she  told  us,  under  any  circumstance. 

But  I'm  glad  she  did  let  it  slip.  So  glad  I 
know  that  "little  John  Wynne"  grew  up  to  be 
that  kind  of  a  man.  I  wonder  if  the  "loveliest 
girl  in  Christendom"  is  worthy  of  him.  If  she 
appreciates  him  as  he  deserves. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DISILLUSIONED 

MANY  times  since  making  that  promise  to  Miss 
Crewes  I  have  wished  I  could  take  it  back.  I'd 
give  a  fortune  to  tell  just  one  person  in  this  world 
what  Dr.  Wynne  did,  but  Barby  says  no.  Miss 
Crewes  has  sailed  and  I  can't  reach  her  for  weeks 
to  get  her  permission,  and  under  the  circumstances 
I'd  not  be  justified  in  breaking  my  promise.  I 
must  keep  my  word.  But  I  almost  know  it  would 
right  a  great  wrong  if  I  could  tell,  and  it  almost 
breaks  my  heart  not  to  be  able  to  do  it.  The 
way  of  it  is  this. 

The  French  Relief  entertainment  took  place 
last  Saturday  night,  after  being  postponed  four 
times,  and  I  did  the  Spanish  dance  in  my  lovely 
green  and  gold  costume.  Esther  got  back  Satur 
day  morning,  just  in  time  for  it.  I  was  too  busy 
to  go  over  to  see  her,  but  she  telephoned  that  she 
would  be  at  the  entertainment,  and  that  I  must 
look  my  prettiest.  Some  of  her  Yarmouth  friends 
were  coming.  The  posters  had  attracted  people 
from  all  over  the  Cape. 

91 


92         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

My  heart  sang  for  joy  all  the  rest  of  the  day. 
Everybody  says  that  I  am  at  my  best  in  that 
Spanish  dance  and  look  my  best  in  that  costume, 
and  naturally  if  one  is  to  do  any  shining  one 
wants  one's  best  beloved  there  to  see  it. 

Babe  Nolan  was  behind  the  scenes  with  me  be 
fore  the  performance  began.  Jim  and  Viola  were 
both  on  the  program,  and  she  was  there  to  help 
them  make  up  and  prompt  them  if  they  forgot.  It 
was  the  first  chance  I  had  to  mention  those  letters 
of  Esther  to  her,  and  I  took  advantage  of  it  a 
few  minutes  before  the  curtain  went  up. 

Of  course  I  didn  't  tell  her  it  was  Richard  whom 
I  saw  with  the  six  letters  written  in  the  seven 
days  of  Esther's  absence.  I  just  mentioned  the 
fact  that  I  had  seen  them  and  added,  "So,  of 
course,  she  couldn  't  be  engaged  to  that  doctor  she 
danced  with  in  Barnstable." 

Babe  was  standing  with  one  eye  glued  to  a  peep 
hole  in  the  curtain,  trying  to  see  who  was  in  the 
audience.  She  never  turned  her  head  but  just 
kept  on  looking  with  one  eye,  and  said  in  that  flat, 
cocksure  way  of  hers,  "Well,  that  doesn't  prove 
anything. ' ' 

It  made  me  so  mad  I  didn't  know  what  to  do. 
It  wasn't  what  she  said  so  much  as  the  way  she 
said  it  that  was  so  odious.  There  have  been  a 
few  times  in  my  life  when  I've  been  sorry  that  I 


DISILLUSIONED 93 

was  born  a  Huntingdon  with  the  family  manners 
to  live  up  to,  and  this  was  one  of  them.  Before  I 
could  think  of  an  answer  she  added  in  that  calm, 
I  '11-prove-it-to-you-voice : 

"She's  down  there  with  him  right  now,  in  the 
third  row,  next  to  the  middle  aisle,  on  the  left. ' ' 

Then  she  stepped  aside  for  me  to  put  my  eye 
to  the  peep-hole,  and  for  one  giddy  instant  I 
thought  I  was  going  to  faint.  The  shock  of  the 
surprise  was  so  great.  There  sat  Esther  looking 
like  a  dream  and  the  man  with  her  was  Doctor 
John  Wynne.  So  she  was  the  "loveliest  girl  in 
Christendom"  whom  he  was  working  and  waiting 
for,  and  whom  he'd  have  to  go  on  working  and 
waiting  for  no  telling  how  long,  because  he  had 
acted  the  part  of  a  true  knight,  helping  an  un 
fortunate  stranger  who  had  no  claim  on  him  what 
soever.  When  Babe  talked  about  the  doctor  who 
was  attentive  to  Esther,  I  took  it  for  granted  he 
was  a  Barnstable  man.  It  never  occurred  to  me 
that  he  had  gone  from  Yarmouth  to  see  her. 

My  head  was  in  such  a  whirl  that  I  was  thank 
ful  the  orchestra  struck  up  just  then,  and  we  had 
to  scurry  to  seats  in  the  wing  before  the  curtain 
went  up.  My  dance  didn't  come  till  near  the  last, 
so  I  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  it  all  over.  My 
first  and  greatest  feeling  after  the  tremendous 
surprise  was  one  of  gladness  for  both  of  them. 


94         GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

It  seemed  too  good  to  be  true  that  my  ideal  girl 
and  my  ideal  man  should  have  found  each  other 
— should  belong  to  each  other.  It  is  exactly  what 
I  could  have  wished  for  each  of  them.  But  a 
little  doubt  kept  raising  its  head  like  a  tiny  snake 
in  a  rose-bower.  If  she  were  really  engaged  to 
him  how  could  she  be  writing  daily  to  Richard, 
those  long  fat  letters,  and  carrying  on  with  him 
in  that  fascinating,  flirtatious,  little  way  of  hers 
that  keeps  him  simply  out  of  his  head  about  her? 

My  mind  went  round  and  round  in  that  same 
circle  of  questions  like  a  squirrel  in  a  cage,  never 
getting  anywhere,  till  all  of  a  sudden  my  name 
was  called.  It  was  my  time  to  go  on  the  stage 
and  I  had  forgotten  my  steps — forgotten  every 
thing.  For  a  second  I  was  as  cold  as  ice.  But  at 
the  first  notes  of  the  fandango  my  castanets 
seemed  to  click  of  their  own  accord,  and  I  glided 
on  to  the  stage  feeling  as  light  as  a  bubble  and 
as  live  as  a  flash  of  fire.  I  was  dancing  for  those 
two  down  there  in  the  third  row,  next  to  the 
middle  aisle.  I  would  do  my  best,  and  not  a  doubt 
should  cloud  my  belief  in  my  beautiful  Star. 

After  the  performance  they  were  among  the 
first  to  come  up  and  congratulate  me.  This  time 
I  could  meet  his  gaze  fearlessly,  and  I  saw  his 
eyes  were  just  like  the  little  boy's  in  the  picture. 
They  hadn't  changed  a  bit,  but  looked  out  on  the 


DISILLUSIONED  95 

world  as  if  they  trusted  everybody  in  it  and  every 
body  could  trust  him.  "When  he  put  Esther's 
scarf  around  her  shoulders  he  did  it  in  such  a 
masterful,  taking-care-of-her  sort  of  way,  and  she 
looked  up  at  him  so  understandingly  that  I  real 
ized  Babe  Nolan  was  right  about  their  caring  for 
each  other. 

I  could  hardly  go  to  sleep  that  night  for  think 
ing  about  them.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  stepped  into  a 
real  live  story  where  I  actually  knew  and  loved 
both  hero  and  heroine,  and  was  personally  inter 
ested  in  everything  that  happened  to  them.  I 
didn't  think  of  Eichard's  part  in  it. 

And  now — oh  how  can  I  tell  what  followed,  or 
how  it  began?  I  scarcely  know  how  the  change 
came  about,  or  how  it  started — that 

"  little  rift  within  the  lute, 
That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 
And  ever  widening,  slowly  silence  all." 

Maybe  Barby's  suggestion  that  I  was  seeing 
Esther  through  a  prism  started  me  to  looking  at 
her  more  critically.  And  Babe  Nolan's  state 
ments  dropped  with  such  calm  precision  every 
time  we  met,  stuck  in  my  memory  like  barbed 
arrows  with  poison  on  them.  I  had  been  mis 
taken  in  one  thing,  why  not  in  others? 


96         GEOKGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

At  first  I  made  excuses  for  everything.  When 
Esther  counted  the  pile  of  photographs  given  her 
by  the  different  boys  who  have  rushed  her  this 
summer,  and  said  she  would  have  plenty  of  scalps 
to  show  when  she  went  back  home,  I  thought  it 
was  just  as  Judith  had  said.  It  wasn't  because 
she  was  a  born  flirt  that  she  made  each  boy  think 
his  picture  was  the  only  one  she  cared  for.  They 
all  did  that  way  back  in  her  home  town.  She  was 
brought  up  to  think  that  was  part  of  the  game. 

But  if  she  were  really  engaged  to  Doctor 
Wynne,  as  Judith  admitted  when  I  asked  her, 
then  she  had  no  business  to  treat  Richard  as  she 
did.  It  wasn't  fair  to  him  to  lead  him  on  so  far 
and  to  accept  so  much  from  him,  and  it  wasn't 
fair  to  Dr.  Wynne. 

But  Judith  said,  "For  the  land  sakes,  Esther 
wasn  't  ready  to  settle  down  to  any  one  person  yet. 
Besides,  Richard  was  too  young  for  her  to  take 
him  seriously,  and  John  Wynne  was  too  deadly 
in  earnest  for  a  girl  like  Esther.  He  was  too 
intense.  He  couldn't  understand  a  little  butterfly 
like  her  whose  only  thought  was  to  have  a  good 
time.  She'd  be  utterly  miserable  tied  for  life  to 
a  man  like  him,  who  put  duty  ahead  of  her  and 
her  pleasure.  It  would  probably  end  in  her  mar 
rying  one  of  the  men  back  home  that  she'd  been 
engaged  to  off  and  on  ever  since  she  was  fifteen. 


DISILLUSIONED  97 

She  said  of  course  it  would  make  things  dread 
fully  uncomfortable  when  it  came  to  breaking  her 
engagement  with  John  Wynne,  because  he  was  so 
horribly  in  earnest  that  he  considered  her  actu 
ally  his.  It  was  a  mistake  to  let  the  affair  go  so 
far.  When  I  asked  how  about  Kichard,  Judith 
just  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said  it  wasn't 
to  be  wondered  at  that  Esther  should  have  a  little 
summer  affair  with  him,  such  a  good-looking  boy 
and  so  entertaining,  with  that  lovely  car  at  his 
disposal. 

Just  then  Esther  came  downstairs  in  a  soft 
white  dress,  beaded  in  crystal,  looking  like  such 
an  angel  with  the  lamplight  falling  on  her  amber 
hair  and  sweet  upturned  face,  that  all  my  old  faith 
in  her  came  back  in  a  rush.  "The  loveliest  girl 
in  Christendom."  No  wonder  he  called  her  that. 

It  was  then  that  I  first  thought,  oh,  if  I  could 
only  tell  her  the  story  that  Miss  Crewes  told  us, 
of  that  knightly  deed  her  John  Wynne  did  with 
out  any  hope  of  guerdon,  she  wouldn't  want  to 
break  tryst  with  him.  But  I  couldn't  tell  then. 
I  had  given  my  promise. 

The  next  week-end  he  came  up  to  Provincetown 
again.  He  was  to  stay  all  night  at  the  hotel  and 
take  Esther  down  to  Chatham  next  day  to  a  house- 
party.  Some  old  school  friends  of  hers  were  giv 
ing  it.  But  he  went  back  without  her.  When 


98        GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

she  found  he  had  come  for  her  in  the  same  shabby 
little  old  automobile  that  he  had  last  Spring  when 
she  was  in  Barnstable,  she  refused  to  go  with  him. 
Said  she'd  be  ashamed  to  have  the  girls  know 
he  drove  such  an  old  rattletrap,  and  that  he'd 
promised  her  last  Spring — at  least  halfway  prom 
ised  her — that  he  'd  get  a  new  one  in  time  for  this 
house-party,  so  that  he  could  join  them  sometimes 
and  take  them  on  picnics. 

He  explained  to  her  that  he  had  fully  intended 
to  do  so,  but  that  something  came  up  lately  which 
made  it  impossible.  He  wouldn't  tell  her  what, 
although  she  coaxed  and  pouted.  He  just  stuck 
to  it  doggedly  that  it  was  something  he  couldn't 
talk  about.  Somebody  needed  his  help  and  he  felt 
forced  to  give  it.  Then  he  grew  stern  and  told 
her  that  she  must  believe  him  when  he  said  the 
sacrifice  was  necessary,  and  forgive  him  if  he 
couldn't  humor  her  wishes. 

It  was  Judith  who  told  me  about  it.  She  said 
that  Esther  has  always  queened  it  over  every 
body,  and  is  so  used  to  being  considered  first  in 
everything  that  she  wouldn't  stand  for  his  put 
ting  some  old  charity  patient  ahead  of  her  wishes 
and  her  comfort.  She  just  gave  him  his  ring  back 
and  he  went  home  that  night. 

I  wanted  to  cry  out  that  I  knew  the  reason. 
That  I  could  tell  her  something  that  should  make 


DISILLUSIONED  99 

her  proud  to  be  seen  in  that  shabby  old  machine, 
because  of  the  gallant  sacrifice  it  stood  for.  But 
my  lips  were  sealed  by  my  promise. 

Only  once  before  in  my  whole  life  have  I  ever 
had  such  a  gone-to-pieces  feeling.  That  was  when 
our  old  gardener,  Jeremy  Clapp  sneezed  his  teeth 
into  the  fire.  I  was  so  little  then  I  didn't  know 
that  teeth  could  be  false,  and  when  I  saw  all  of 
his  fly  out  of  his  mouth  I  thought  he  was  com 
ing  apart  right  before  my  eyes.  The  shock  was 
so  awful  I  screamed  myself  almost  into  spasms. 
My  faith  in  everything  seemed  crumbling.  I  felt 
the  same  way  this  time. 

I  had  been  so  sure  of  Esther,  so  absolutely  sure 
of  her  high  standards  of  honor,  that  the  slightest 
flaw  in  her  was  harder  to  forgive  than  a  crime  in 
a  less  shining  soul.  And  now  to  think  that  she 
had  cruelly  hurt  and  disappointed  the  man  who, 
to  me,  was  the  knightliest  of  all  men,  was  more 
than  I  could  bear.  I  felt  I  could  never  take  an 
other  person  on  trust  as  long  as  I  lived.  I  wished 
I  could  have  died  before  I  found  out  that  she 
wasn't  all  I  believed  her  to  be. 

Barby  had  guests  when  I  reached  home.  I 
could  hear  their  voices  as  I  paused  an  instant  on 
the  front  door-step.  I  knew  that  if  I  tried  to  slip 
up  the  stairs  she  'd  see  me  and  call  me  to  come  in, 
so  I  tip-toed  across  the  hall  into  the  big  down- 


100       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

stairs  guest  chamber,  and  threw  myself  on  the 
conch  by  the  open  window.  I  was  too  miserable 
to  face  anybody.  Too  miserable  even  for  tears. 

But  the  tears  came  presently  when  I  looked  up 
and  caught  sight  of  the  picture  that  I  had  res 
cued  at  the  auction,  " little  John  Wynne,"  leaning 
against  his  mother's  shoulder,  looking  out  on  the 
world  so  trustingly  from  that  safe  refuge.  As  I 
looked  at  the  curl  her  fingers  had  brushed  so  care 
fully  into  shape,  and  the  curve  of  the  baby  lips 
that  had  never  known  anything  but  truth,  I  just 
couldn't  bear  to  think  of  him  growing  up  to  be 
deceived  and  disappointed.  I  had  to  admit  that 
Esther  wasn't  worthy  of  him,  but  I  recalled  the 
way  he  looked  at  her  as  he  put  her  scarf  around 
her  that  night,  and  I  felt  that  if  he  still  wanted 
her  as  much  as  he  did  then,  I  wanted  him  to  have 
her.  It  didn't  seem  fair  for  her  not  to  be  told 
about  his  Sir  Gareth  sacrifice.  I  believe  I  cried 
more  for  his  disappointment  than  for  my  own,  as 
I  pictured  his  blighted  future,  although  mine 
seemed  empty  enough,  goodness  knows.  I  wished 
I  was  old  enough  to  be  a  trained  nurse  and  go  to 
Flanders  right  away. 

It  was  almost  dark  when  the  guests  left.  I  had 
cried  myself  into  a  blinding  headache.  I  hadn't 
intended  to  tell  Barby,  but  she  happened  to  glance 
in  as  she  passed  the  door,  and,  seeing  me  face 


DISILLUSIONED  101 

downward  on  the  couch,  came  in  with  an  excla 
mation  of  surprise,  and  before  I  knew  it  the  whole 
miserable  story  was  out.  Then  I  was  glad  I  told, 
for  she  was  so  sweet  and  comforting  as  she  sat 
and  stroked  my  forehead  with  her  cool  fingers. 
Some  of  the  ache  went  away  as  she  talked.  It 
helped  a  lot  to  know  that  she  had  gone  through 
the  same  kind  of  an  experience.  Everyone  does, 
she  said,  "in  their  salad  days."  One  can't  ex 
pect  to  be  an  expert  at  reading  character  then. 

But  she  insisted  that  I  mustn't  tell  Esther  about 
the  typhoid  fever  patient.  She  said  it  wouldn't 
help  matters.  That  John  Wynne  had  been  look 
ing  through  a  prism  too.  He  saw  her  pretty, 
fascinating,  gracious  ways  and  imagined  her  per 
fect  as  I  had  done.  He  hadn't  seen  what  a  shal 
low  little  creature  she  really  is,  vain  and  selfish. 
It  was  better  for  his  disillusionment  to  come  now 
than  later. 

"But  how  is  one  ever  to  be  sure?"  I  wailed. 
"There  was  Kichard  and  Doctor  Wynne  and  me, 
all  three  of  us  mistaken.  She  was  like  a  star  to 
each  of  us.  I  called  her  'Star.'  It  seemed  the 
most  beautiful  name  in  the  world  and  I  thought 
it  fitted  her  perfectly." 

"Don't  be  too  hard  on  her,"  Barby  said.  "It 
was  your  mistake  in  taking  her  measure,  and 
giving  her  a  misfit  name.  Remember  how  many 


102       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

mistakes  the  prince  made  before  he  found  a  per 
fect  fit  for  Cinderella's  slipper.  But  cheer  up! 
You'll  find  some  one  worthy  of  the  name  some 
day." 

I  didn't  want  to  cheer  up,  so  I  just  closed  my 
eyes,  and  Bar  by,  seeing  that  I  didn't  wish  to  talk, 
went  on  rubbing  the  headache  away  in  silence. 
When  I  opened  them  again  it  was  twilight,  so  I 
must  have  dozed  off  for  a  while.  Barby  was  sit 
ting  across  the  room  in  the  window-seat,  her  elbow 
on  the  sill.  Her  dress  glimmered  white.  Beyond 
her,  through  the  open  casement,  glowed  the  steady 
harbor  lights  and  the  winking  red  eye  of  the  Wood 
End  lighthouse.  I  went  over  to  her  and  leaned 
out  into  the  sweet- smelling  summer  dusk.  It 
made  me  feel  better  just  to  sniff  that  delightful 
mingling  of  sea  salt  and  garden  fragrances. 

"  Look  up, ' '  said  Barby.  *  *  Did  you  ever  see  the 
stars  so  bright?  I've  been  sitting  here  taking  a 
world  of  comfort  out  of  them.  It's  good  to  feel 
that  no  matter  what  else  goes  wrong  they  keep 
right  on,  absolutely  true  to  their  orbits  and  their 
service  of  shining;  so  unfailingly  true  that  the 
mariner  can  always  steer  his  course  by  them. 
And  Georgina — you  don't  believe  it  possible  now, 
but  I  want  you  to  take  my  word  for  it — there  are 
people  in  the  world  like  that — there  are  friend- 


DISILLUSIONED  103 

ships  like  that — there  is  love  like  that — just  as] 
dependable  as  the  stars!" 

She  said  it  in  a  way  I  can  never  forget.  It 
brought  back  the  old  feeling  Tippy  used  to  give 
me  when  she  traced  my  name  on  my  silver  chris 
tening  cup,  the  feeling  that  it  was  up  to  me  to 
keep  it  shining.  I've  thought  about  it  quite  a  lot 
since,  but  I  am  all  mixed  up  as  to  which  is  the  best 
way  to  do  it.  Maybe  after  all  it  would  be  more 
star-like  of  me  to  renounce  my  dream  of  becoming 
a  famous  author,  and  go  in  for  duty  alone,  like 
Miss  Crewes. 


CHAPTEE  IX 

SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER 

ONE  might  think,  seeing  that  I  am  keeping  two 
diaries  now,  that  I  am  leading  a  double  life.  But 
such  is  not  the  case.  When  it  was  decided  that  I 
was  to  go  to  Washington  this  year,  to  the  same 
school  that  Barby  attended  when  she  was  my 
age,  she  suggested  that  I  keep  a  journal,  as  she 
did  while  here.  She  called  hers  "Chronicles  of 
Harrington  Hall."  So  I  am  calling  mine  "The 
Second  Book  of  Chronicles."  Next  vacation  we 
are  to  read  them  together. 

Naturally  I  want  to  make  mine  as  interesting 
as  possible,  so  I've  spent  considerable  time  de 
scribing  life  here  at  school  as  I  see  it,  and  mak 
ing  character  sketches  of  the  different  girls, 
teachers,  etc.  It  would  have  been  more  satisfac 
tory  if  I  could  have  put  all -that  in  my  Memoirs, 
thus  making  one  continuous  story,  but  it's  too 
great  a  task  to  write  it  all  out  twice.  So  I  have 
put  a  footnote  in  my  Memoirs  for  the  benefit  of 
whoever  my  biographer  may  be,  saying,  "For 

104 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER  105 

what  happened  at  Harrington  Hall,  see  my  Book 
of  Chronicles." 

All  during  the  first  term  I  did  not  make  a  single 
entry  in  this  old  blank  book,  now  open  before  me. 
It  lay  out  of  sight  and  out  of  mind  in  the  back  of 
my  desk.  But  this  morning  I  came  across  it  while 
looking  for  something,  and  tonight  I  have  just 
finished  reading  it  from  start  to  finish.  I  realize 
I  have  left  quite  a  gap  in  the  story  by  failing  to 
record  several  things  which  happened  after 
Esther  went  home. 

As  I  sit  and  re-read  these  last  pages,  how  far 
away  I  seem  now  from  that  unhappy  August 
afternoon  when  I  came  home  from  the  Gilf reds', 
feeling  that  I  could  never  take  anyone  on  trust 
again.  It  was  days  before  I  got  over  the  misery 
of  that  experience,  and  I  really  believe  it  was  on 
account  of  the  way  I  went  moping  around  the 
house  that  Barby  decided  to  send  me  away  to 
school.  Father  had  been  urging  it  for  some  time, 
but  she  wanted  to  keep  me  at  home  with  her  one 
more  year. 

It  wasn't  the  excitement  of  getting  ready  to  go 
away  and  trjdng  on  all  my  new  clothes  that  re 
stored  me  to  my  former  cheerfulness,  although 
Barby  thinks  so.  It  was  just  two  little  words  that 
Richard  said  the  last  day  he  was  with  us,  before 
going  back  to  school.  I  wouldn't  have  believed 


106      GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

that  a  mere  exclamation  could  have  brought  about 
such  an  amazing  change  in  my  feelings,  and  I 
still  wonder  how  it  did.  Next  year  I'm  going  to 
study  psychology  just  to  find  out  about  such  queer 
happenings  in  our  brains. 

We  were  out  in  the  boat,  he  and  Captain  Kidd 
and  I,  taking  a  farewell  row.  He  hadn't  men 
tioned  Esther's  name  since  the  day  she  left,  but 
Judith  told  me  he  never  went  back  to  the  house 
after  he  found  out  the  double  game  she  had  been 
playing.  Remembering  how  infatuated  he'd  been 
I  knew  he  must  have  felt  almost  as  broken  up  as 
Babe  says  John  Wynne  was.  I  kept  hoping  he'd 
bring  up  the  subject.  I  thought  it  would  make  it 
easier  for  him  if  he  would  confide  in  one  who  had 
known  the  same  adoration  and  disappointment. 
Besides  I  brooded  over  it  all  the  time.  It  was  all 
I  thought  about. 

So  on  the  way  back  I  sat  in  pensive  silence, 
trailing  my  hand  languidly  over  the  side  of  the 
boat  through  the  water.  Richard  talked  now  and 
then,  but  of  trivial  things  that  could  not  possibly 
interest  one  communing  with  a  secret  sorrow,  so 
I  said  nothing  in  reply.  When  we  were  almost 
at  the  pier  he  rested  on  the  oars  and  let  the  boat 
drift,  while  we  sat  and  listened  to  the  waves  tum 
bling  up  against  the  breakwater. 

As  we  paused  thus  in  the  gathering  dusk,  a 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER  107 

verse  came  to  me  that  seemed  a  fitting  expression 
of  the  sad  twilight  time  as  well  as  both  my  mood 
and  his.  For  his  face  looked  sad  as  he  sat  there 
gazing  out  to  sea,  sad  and  almost  stern.  So  I 
repeated  it  softly  and  so  feelingly  that  the  tears 
sprang  to  my  eyes,  and  there  was  a  little  catch  in 
my  voice  at  the  last  line: 

"Break,  break,  break, 
At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  0  sea, 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 
Will  never  come  back  to  me. ' ' 

I  had  expected  some  sort  of  sympathetic  re 
sponse,  at  least  an  eloquent  silence,  for  he  knew 
I  meant  Esther,  and  it  was  like  a  dash  of  cold 
water  to  hear  him  exclaim  in  an  exasperated  sort 
of  way,  "Oh  rats!" 

Captain  Kidd  took  the  exclamation  to  himself, 
and  barked  till  he  nearly  fell  out  of  the  boat. 
And  Richard  laughed  and  rolled  him  over  on  the 
seat  and  asked  him  what  he  meant  by  making 
such  a  fuss  about  nothing.  That  was  no  way  for 
a  good  sport  to  do.  Then  he  began  pulling  for 
the  landing  with  all  his  might. 

Considering  that  I  had  just  bared  to  him  one 
of  the  most  sacred  emotions  of  my  heart,  his  an 
swer  seemed  as  unfeeling  as  it  was  rude  and  in- 


108       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

appropriate,  something  I  could  never  forgive  nor 
forget.  He  couldn't  help  seeing  that  I  was  hurt 
and  indignant,  for  I  ran  up  the  beach  ahead  of 
him  and  only  answered  in  monosyllables  when 
he  called  after  me,  pretending  nothing  had  hap 
pened. 

But  later  when  I  was  upstairs  brushing  my 
hair,  I  heard  him  down  in  the  dining-room,  teas 
ing  Tippy  and  telling  her  what  he  wanted  for  his 
farewell  supper,  in  that  jolly,  audacious  way  of 
his  that  makes  a  joke  of  everything.  I  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  he  felt  blue  about  going  back  to 
school  and  that  he  was  all  broken  up  over  the 
affair  with  Esther,  but  he  was  too  good  a  sport 
to  show  it. 

And  that's  what  he  meant  by  saying  "Oh  rats," 
in  such  an  exasperated  way !  He  had  expected  me 
to  measure  up  to  his  idea  of  a  good  sport  and  I 
hadn't  done  it!  My  brooding  over  "a  day  that 
is  dead"  till  it  spoiled  our  enjoyment  of  the  pres 
ent  one,  seemed  silly  and  sentimental  to  him.  As 
he  told  the  dog,  ' '  that  was  no  way  to  do. ' '  From 
away  back  in  our  pirate-playing  days  the  thought 
that  Richard  expected  a  thing  of  me,  always 
spurred  me  on  to  do  it,  from  walking  the  ridge 
pole  to  swinging  down  the  well  rope.  He  ex 
pected  me  to  be  as  game  and  cheerful  a  chum  as 
he  is,  and  here  I  had  spoiled  our  last  boat-ride 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER  109 

together  by  relapsing  into  that  moody  silence. 

It  was  as  if  those  two  words  held  a  mirror  be 
fore  my  eyes,  in  which  I  saw  myself  as  I  looked 
to  him.  "But  I'll  show  him  I  can  be  game,"  I 
declared  between  my  teeth,  and  as  soon  as  I  had 
tied  the  ribbon  on  my  hair  I  ran  downstairs,  de 
termined  to  make  that  last  evening  the  j oiliest  one 
we  had  ever  had. 

I  am  so  thankful  that  we  did  have  such  a  gay 
time,  for  now  that  things  can  never  be  the  same 
again,  he  will  have  it  to  look  back  on  and  remem 
ber  happily.  He  went  away  next  morning,  but  I 
did  not  leave  until  nearly  two  weeks  later.  It 
was  the  day  before  I  started  to  Washington  that 
I  heard  the  news  which  changed  things. 

I  was  down  in  the  post-office,  sending  a  money 
order,  when  Mr.  Bart,  the  famous  portrait 
painter,  came  in.  Some  other  artist-looking  man 
followed  him  in,  and  I  heard  him  say  as  he  caught 
up  with  him: 

"Bart,  have  you  heard  the  news  about  More- 
land?  He's  reported  killed  in  action.  No  par 
ticulars  yet,  but,  it  goes  without  saying  that  when 
he  went,  he  went  bravely." 

Mr.  Bart  started  as  if  he  had  been  hit,  and  said 
something  I  didn't  quite  catch  about  dear  old 
Dick,  the  most  lovable  man  he  ever  knew.  All  the 
time  the  clerk  was  filling  my  money-order  blank 


110       GEQBGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

they  stood  there  at  the  same  window,  talking  about 
him  and  the  winters  they  had  spent  together  in 
Paris,  their  studios  all  in  the  same  building,  and 
how  they'd  never  want  to  go  back  there  now  with 
so  many  of  the  old  crowd  gone.  They  said  all 
sorts  of  nice  things  about  Mr.  Moreland.  But 
not  till  one  of  them  asked,  ''Where's  the  boy 
now?"  did  I  realize  the  awfulness  of  what  I  had 
just  heard.  It  was  Richard's  father  they  wrere 
talking  about,  mid  lie  was  dead. 

But  I  couldn't  really  believe  that  it  was  true 
until  I  got  home  and  found  Barby  at  the  tele 
phone.  Mr.  Milford  had  just  called  her  up  to  tell 
her  about  it.  And  she  was  saying  yes,  she  thought 
he  ought  to  go  to  Kichard  at  once  by  all  means. 
He  would  feel  so  utterly  desolate  and  alone  in  the 
world,  for  his  father  had  been  everything  to  him. 
Now  that  his  Aunt  Letty  was  dead  he  had  no  rela 
tives  left  except  Mr.  Milford.  She'd  go  herself 
if  she  thought  she  could  be  any  comfort  to  the 
dear  boy. 

Mr.  Milford  said  he'd  catch  the  Dorothy  Brad 
ford  within  an  hour,  and  he'd  convey  her  mes 
sages.  And  that's  the  last  I  heard  for  ever  so 
long.  I  wanted  to  write  to  Richard,  but  I  just 
couldn't.  There  wasn't  any  way  of  telling  him 
how  sorry  I  was.  But  that  night  I  scribbled  a 
postscript  at  the  end  of  Barby 's  letter  to  him,  and 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER     111 

signed  it,  "Your  loving  sister,  Georgina."  I 
wanted  him  to  feel  that  he  still  had  somebody  who 
thought  of  him  as  their  really  own,  and  as  belong 
ing  to  the  family. 

I  had  been  here  at  school  over  two  weeks  before 
any  news  came  about  him.  Then  Barby  wrote 
that  Mr.  Milford  was  back,  and  had  told  her  that 
they  had  a  trying  interview.  Richard  was  more 
determined  than  ever  to  get  into  the  war.  He 
kept  saying,  "I've  got  to  go,  Cousin  James. 
There's  a  double  reason  now,  don't  you  see,  with 
Dad  to  be  avenged1?  I'm  not  asking  you  to  ad 
vance  any  of  my  money.  All  I  want  is  your  con 
sent  as  my  guardian.  They  won't  let  me  in  with 
out  that." 

Richard  can't  get  the  money  his  Aunt  Letty 
left  him  till  he  is  twenty-one.  It's  in  trust.  But 
he'll  have  a  lot  then,  and  there  ought  to  be  con 
siderable  when  his  father's  affairs  are  settled. 
But  because  Mr.  Moreland  had  said  that  Richard 
was  too  young  to  go  now  and  must  keep  on  in 
school,  Mr.  Milford  feels  it  is  his  duty  to  be  firm 
and  carry  out  his  cousin's  wishes.  But  he  told 
Barby  he  came  away  feeling  that  with  the  boy  in 
that  frantic  frame  of  mind,  school  would  do  him 
no  more  good  than  it  would  a  young  lion.  A 
caged  and  wounded  one  at  that. 

The  next  news  of  him  was  that  he  had  disap- 


112       GEORGINA 'S  SERVICE  STARS 

peared  from  the  school  and  his  Cousin  James 
couldn't  find  a  trace  of  him.  About  that  time  the 
expressman  left  a  big  flat  box  for  Barby  with  a 
note  inside  that  said,  "Take  care  of  this  for  me, 
please.  If  I  shouldn't  come  back  I'd  like  for  you 
and  Georgina  to  have  it.  Dad  thought  it  was  the 
best  thing  he  ever  did." 

In  the  box  was  the  portrait  that  Mr.  Moreland 
painted  of  Richard  the  first  summer  he  came  to 
Provincetown,  called, t  i  The  thoughts  of  Youth  are 
long,  long  thoughts. ' '  It  has  been  given  first  place 
in  every  art  exhibition  in  which  it  has  been  hung, 
and,  besides  being  a  wonderful  piece  of  painting, 
is  the  darlingest  portrait  of  Richard  as  he  was  at 
the  age  of  ten  that  one  could  imagine. 

It  was  not  until  after  Thanksgiving  that  I  heard 
directly  from  him  myself.  Then  I  had  a  note 
from  him,  written  up  in  Canada.  He  said,  "I 
know  you  won't  give  me  away,  Georgina,  even  to 
Barby.  She  might  feel  it  was  her  duty  to  tell 
Cousin  James  where  I  am.  I  couldn't  enlist,  even 
up  here  without  his  consent,  but  I  Ve  found  a  way 
that  I  can  do  my  bit  and  make  every  lick  count. 
I'm  at  the  front,  by  proxy,  and  more.  So  I  am 
satisfied.  I  haven't  much  time  to  write  but  that's 
no  reason  I  wouldn  't  appreciate  all  the  home  news 
available.  If  you  have  any  on  hand  just  pass  it 
along  to  yours  truly  who  will  be  duly  grateful. " 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER  113 

I  was  wild  to  know  what  he  was  doing,  and 
exactly  what  he  meant  by  being  at  the  front  "by 
proxy  and  more."  But,  although  I  wrote  regu 
larly  after  that  and  underscored  the  question  each 
time,  he  never  paid  any  attention  to  that  part  of 
my  letters.  I  could  see  he  was  purposely  ignor 
ing  it.  I  would  have  ignored  his  questions,  just 
to  get  even,  if  they  hadn't  showed  so  plainly  how 
hungry  he  was  for  news  of  us  all.  Remembering 
that  he  is  all  alone  in  the  world  now,  since  he  and 
his  Cousin  James  are  at  outs,  and  that  I  am  the 
only  one  of  his  home  folks  who  knows  his  where 
abouts,  I  make  my  letters  as  entertaining  as  pos 
sible. 

Sometimes  Babe  Nolan,  who  is  at  this  school, 
rooming  just  across  the  hall,  hands  over  her 
brother  Jim's  letters.  The  spelling  is  awful  and 
his  grammar  a  disgrace,  but  he  certainly  has  a 
nose  for  news.  He  tells  about  everybody  in  town 
from  the  Selectmen  to  the  Portuguese  fishermen. 
Babe  never  wants  the  letters  back,  so  I  send  them 
on  to  Richard,  also  the  Provincetown  Advocate, 
which  Tippy  mails  me  every  week  as  soon  as  she 
is  done  reading  it. 

Hardly  had  I  written  the  above  when  my  room 
mate,  Lillian  Locke,  came  in.  Being  a  Congress 
man's  daughter,  she  is  allowed  to  spend  a  lot  of 
her  spare  time  with  her  family,  who  are  living 


114       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

at  a  kotel.  She  had  been  out  all  afternoon  with 
them,  consequently  had  not  received  her  pile  of 
letters  which  came  in  the  last  mail.  The  elevator 
boy  gave  them  to  her  as  she  came  up.  One  of 
mine  had  been  put  in  with  hers  by  mistake.  That 
is  why  I  didn't  get  it  earlier.  I  was  surprised  to 
see  that  it  was  from  Barby,  because  I  had  one 
from  her  only  this  morning.  Late  as  it  is  I'll 
have  to  sit  up  and  add  a  few  more  lines  to  this 
record,  for  it's  all  about  Richard  and  fits  right  in 
here. 

Mr.  Milford  finally  got  track  of  him  in  some 
way  and  followed  him  to  Canada.  He  has  just 
returned.  He  found  Richard  working  in  what  had 
once  been  an  automobile  factory.  It  is  now  turn 
ing  out  aeroplanes  for  the  Canadian  government. 

One  of  the  first  persons  Richard  met  when  he 
reached  the  town  was  a  workman  in  this  factory 
who  was  eager  to  go  to  the  front,  but  couldn't  for 
two  reasons.  He  was  badly  needed  in  the  factory, 
and  he  had  a  family  dependent  on  his  wages,  two 
little  children  and  a  half -blind  mother.  His  wife 
is  dead.  When  Richard  found  he  couldn't  enlist, 
big  and  strong  as  he  is,  without  swearing  falsely 
as  to  his  age,  he  went  to  the  man  and  offered  to 
take  his  place  both  in  the  factory  and  as  a  bread 
winner  for  his  family. 

It  was  the  foreman  who  told  Mr.  Milford  about 


SEVEN  MONTHS  LATER  115 

it.  He  said  there  was  no  resisting  a  boy  like  him. 
He  was  in  such  dead  earnest  and  such  a  likable 
sort  of  a  lad.  He  walked  into  everybody's  good 
graces  from  the  start.  They  took  him  on  trial 
and  he  went  to  work  as  if  every  blow  was  aimed 
at  a  Hun.  When  the  man  saw  that  he  actually 
meant  business  and  wanted  it  put  down  in  black 
and  white  that  he  would  look  after  the  family  left 
behind,  the  matter  was  arranged  in  short  order. 

And  now  Eichard  feels  that  not  only  is  there  a 
man  on  the  firing  line  who  wouldn't  be  there  but 
for  him,  but  every  day  as  he  fashions  some  part 
of  the  aircraft,  he  is  doing  a  man's  work  in  help 
ing  to  win  the  war.  The  foreman  said,  ' '  He 's  the 
kind  that  won't  be  satisfied  till  he  knows  every 
thing  about  airships  there  is  to  know,"  and  Mr. 
Milford  said  he  didn't  feel  that  he  was  justified 
in  opposing  him  any  longer.  A  job  like  the  one 
he  had  undertaken  would  do  him  more  good  than 
all  the  colleges  in  the  country. 

Down  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter  Barby  said, 
"I  have  written  all  this  to  Miss  Crewes,  that  she 
may  have  another  Sir  Gareth  to  add  to  her  list 
of  knightly  souls  who  do  their  deed  and  ask  no 
guerdon." 


CHAPTER  X 

AT  HARRINGTON  HALL 

THE  other  day  Miss  Everett,  the  English 
teacher,  took  a  book  away  from  Jessica  Archibald. 
She  said  it  wasn  't  suitable  for  a  girl  in  her  teens. 
It  was  too  sentimental  and  romantic.  Jess  didn't 
mind  it  very  much,  for  she  is  one  of  the  worship 
pers  at  Miss  Everett's  shrine.  When  a  bunch  of 
girls  are  so  devoted  to  a  person  that  they'll  go 
to  her  room  and  take  the  hairs  out  of  her  comb 
to  put  in  their  lockets  or  their  memory  books, 
that  is  the  limit.  I  don't  see  how  any  novel  ever 
written  could  beat  that  for  being  sentimental. 

But  Babe  Nolan  doesn't  agree  with  me.  She 
never  does.  She  said,  "Look  at  the  old  Eomans. 
Didn't  I  remember  in  Anthony  over  Caesar's  dead 
body: 

"Yea,  beg  a  hair  of  him  for  memory,  and  dying, 
mention  it  within  their  wills,  bequeathing  it 
as  a  rich  legacy." 

116 


AT  HARRINGTON  HALL  117 

But  Babe  admits  that  Jessica  is  disgustingly 
sentimental.  They  are  room-mates.  And  Babe 
says  how  any  grown  person  can  be  the  blind  bat 
that  Jess's  mother  is,  is  a  mystery  to  her.  Mrs. 
Archibald  told  Miss  Everett  that  her  little  daugh 
ter  is  "an  unawakened  child  as  yet,  just  a  shy, 
budding,  white  violet,"  and  she  wants  to  keep  her 
so  till  she's  through  school.  She  says  Jessica  has 
always  been  totally  indifferent  to  boys,  never 
gives  them  a  thought,  and  she  doesn't  want  her 
to  until  she  is  grown  and  Prince  Charming  arrives 
on  the  scene.  She's  just  fifteen  now. 

And  all  the  time,  Babe  says,  shy  little  Jessica 
is  having  the  worst  kind  of  a  case  with  one  of  the 
Military  Academy  cadets,  who  started  up  an  ac 
quaintance  with  her  one  day  on  the  street-car, 
behind  the  chaperone's  back.  She's  slipped  off 
and  gone  alone  to  movies  several  times  to  meet 
him,  when  she  was  supposed  to  be  taking  tea  with 
her  aunt.  Yet  she  looks  up  in  such  an  innocent, 
wide-eyed  way,  and  seems  so  shocked  when  such 
escapades  are  mentioned,  that  you  wouldn't  sus 
pect  her  any  more  than  you  would  a  little  gray 
kitten.  But  it's  making  her  dreadfully  deceitful. 

Babe  came  up  to  our  room  to  talk  to  Lillian 
and  me  about  it,  for  she's  really  worried  over 
those  clandestine  meetings.  She  says  the  whole 
trouble  is  that  Jess  doesn't  know  boys  as  they 


118       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

exist  in  the  flesh.  She  knows  only  the  demi-gods 
created  by  her  own  imagination.  She  has  been 
brought  up  on  fairy-tales  in  which  princes  often 
go  around  disguised  as  swine-herds,  and,  not  hav 
ing  any  brothers  which  would  give  her  the  key 
to  the  whole  species,  she  doesn't  know  a  swine 
herd  when  she  meets  him. 

Babe  told  her  no  real  prince  would  ask  any 
thing  clandestine,  and  that  this  cadet  she's  moon 
ing  around  about  is  only  an  overgrown  schoolboy 
with  a  weak  chin  and  a  bad  complexion,  and  if 
she  could  see  him  as  he  really  is  and  as  he  looks 
to  the  rest  of  us  girls,  it  would  cure  her  of  her 
romantic  infatuation.  And  Babe  told  her,  more 
over,  that  no  real  prince  would  pretend  to  be  a 
poet  when  he  wasn't,  and  that  the  verses  he  sent 
her  were  not  original  as  she  fondly  believed,  wear 
ing  them  around  inside  her  middy  blouse.  Babe 
couldn't  remember  just  what  poem  they  were 
taken  from,  but  said  they  were  as  well  known  to 
the  public  as  *  *  Casey  at  the  bat. ' '  She  is  so  blunt 
that  when  she  begins  handing  out  plain  truths  she 
never  stops  for  anyone's  feelings. 

Babe  says  that  if  she  ever  marries  and  is  left  a 
widow  in  poor  circumstances,  she  will  support 
herself  by  starting  a  Correspondence  School  in  a 
branch  that  will  do  more  good  than  all  the  cur- 
riculums  of  all  the  colleges.  It  will  be  a  sort  of 


AT  HARRINGTON  HALL  119 

Geography  of  Life,  teaching  maps  and  boundaries 
of  the  "United  State"  and  general  information  to 
fit  one  for  entering  it.  She  said  we  shouldn't  be 
left  to  stumble  into  it,  in  blindfold  ignorance  like 
Jessica's. 

Right  there  I  couldn't  resist  breaking  in  to  say, 
"Oh,  speaking  of  a  correspondence  course,  Babe, 
did  you  ever  find  that  brass-balled  bedstead  you 
were  looking  for  at  the  auction?" 

Of  course  the  question  had  no  significance  for 
Lillian,  but  it  pointedly  reminded  Babe  of  the 
correspondence  she  had  with  the  One  for  whom 
she  was  once  all  eyes  when  he  was  present,  and  all 
memory  when  he  was  gone.  She's  entirely  over 
that  foolishness  now,  but  she  turned  as  red  as 
fire,  just  the  same,  and  to  keep  Lillian  from  no 
ticing,  she  turned  to  the  bureau  and  began  talk 
ing  about  the  first  thing  she  looked  at. 

It  happened  to  be  a  photograph  of  Lillian's 
brother,  Duffield,  who  is  an  upper  classman  at 
Annapolis.  Lillian  is  awfully  proud  of  him,  al 
though  from  his  picture  you  wouldn't  call  him  any 
thing  extraordinary.  His  nose  is  sort  of  snub, 
but  he  has  a  nice  face  as  if  he  really  might  be  the 
jolly  kind  of  a  big  brother  that  Lillian  says  he  is. 
She's  always  quoting  him.  I've  heard  so  much 
about  what  "Duff  thinks"  and  "Duff  used  to  say 
and  do"  that  I  feel  that  I  know  him  as  well 


120       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

as  if  we'd  been  brought  up  in  the  same  house. 
\  So  when  she  began  singing  his  praises  again, 
declaring  that  Duffield  wouldn't  ask  a  girl  to  meet 
him  clandestinely  and  he  wouldn't  have  any  re 
spect  for  one  who  wanted  to,  I  withdrew  from 
the  conversation.  It  was  time  for  me  to  go  on 
copying  the  theme  which  Babe's  entrance  had 
interrupted. 

She  must  have  been  responsive  enough  to  have 
pleased  even  Lillian,  for  when  next  I  was  con 
scious  of  what  they  were  saying,  Lillian  was  in 
cluding  Babe  in  the  invitation  she  had  given  me 
some  time  ago,  to  go  along  with  them  next  time 
her  mother  motored  down  to  Annapolis  to  see 
Duff.  They're  going  down  to  a  hop  in  April, 
which  is  only  a  few  days  off  now,  and  again  in 
June  week,  and  stay  at  John  Carrol  Hall.  Mrs. 
Locke  has  already  written  to  Barby,  inviting  me, 
and  Barby  has  given  her  permission. 

Mrs.  Locke  is  from  Kentucky,  and  knows  all 
the  Shirleys.  She  always  introduces  me  as  "the 
granddaughter  of  our  illustrious  editor,  you 
know."  In  that  way  I've  met  a  lot  of  Barby 's 
old  friends  when  I've  been  invited  to  take  dinner 
at  the  hotel  with  Lillian.  That  accounts  also  for 
my  being  included  in  their  invitation  to  an  in 
formal  musicale  at  the  White  House  where  I  met 
the  President  and  his  wife.  (See  Book  of 


AT  HARRINGTON  HALL  121 

Chronicles  for  six  pages  describing  that  grand 
occasion.) 

Of  all  the  legacies  in  the  world,  nothing  is  more 
desirable  for  children  to  inherit  than  old  friend 
ships.  One  day  when  Mrs.  Locke  took  Lillian 
and  me  shopping  with  her,  we  met  a  lady  in  one 
of  the  stores  whom  she  introduced  as  Mrs.  Wai- 
don.  No  sooner  had  she  been  told  who  I  am  than 
she  held  out  both  hands  to  me,  saying  in  the  dear 
est  way,  "Not  Barby  Shirley's  daughter,  and 
half  a  head  taller  than  I!  Why,  my  dear,  I  was 
at  your  mother's  wedding,  and  it  seems  only  yes 
terday.  Our  families  have  been  neighbors  for 
three  generations,  so  you  see  we  inherited  our 
friendship,  and  now  here  you  come,  walking  into 
the  same  heritage." 

She  insisted  on  taking  us  home  to  lunch  with 
her.  Mrs.  Locke  had  another  engagement,  but 
Lillian  and  I  went.  She  has  the  dearest  apart 
ment,  on  the  top  floor  with  a  stairway  running  up 
to  a  little  roof  garden.  Her  husband  served  in 
the  Civil  War  and  was  a  general  in  the  Cuban  war, 
and  two  of  her  daughters  have  recently  married 
naval  officers.  They  were  living  in  Annapolis 
when  that  happened,  so  she  knows  all  about  the 
place.  Her  other  daughter,  Miss  Catherine, 
has  just  come  back  from  a  visit  down  there,  and 
she  told  us  so  much  about  the  place  and  the  good 


122 


times  she  has  there  that  we  are  simply  wild  to  go. 
I  can  hardly  wait  for  the  time  to  come. 

We  have  jnst  come  to  our  rooms  from  the  Cur 
rent  Events  class.  If  it  wasn't  for  Miss  Allen's 
little  lecture  every  Friday  afternoon,  reviewing 
the  happenings  of  the  week,  we'd  hardly  know 
what  is  going  on  outside  of  the  school  premises. 
We  rarely  see  the  papers,  and  it  is  as  sweet  and 
peaceful  as  a  cloister,  here  at  the  Hall,  with  its 
high-hedged  park  around  it.  We  forget,  some 
times,  the  awful  suffering  and  horrors  that  have 
been  shocking  the  world  for  nearly  two  years. 
Our  lessons  and  recreations  and  friendships  fill 
our  days  to  the  brim,  and  crowd  the  other  things 
out.  While  we're  digging  into  our  mathematics 
or  playing  basketball  with  all  our  might,  if  we 
think  of  war  at  all,  it's  in  the  back  of  our  heads, 
like  the  memory  of  a  bad  dream. 

But  when  Miss  Allen  tells  us  of  some  new 
horror  as  she  did  today,  of  the  torpedoing  of  the 
Sussex,  crowded  with  passengers  and  many 
Americans  aboard,  then  we  realize  we  are  living 
on  the  edge  of  a  smouldering  volcano,  which  may 
burst  into  action  any  moment.  It  doesn't  seem 
possible  that  our  country  can  keep  out  of  it  much 
longer.  I  know  Father  thinks  so.  His  letters 
are  few  and  far  between  because  he's  so  very 


AT  HARRINGTON  HALL  123 

busy,  but  there's  always  that  same  note  of  warn 
ing  running  through  them. 

"Make  the  most  of  this  year  at  school,  Georgina. 
Nobody  knows  what  is  coming.  So  get  all  you 
can  out  of  it  in  the  way  of  preparation  to  meet 
the  time  of  testing  that  lies  ahead  for  all  of  us." 

After  one  of  those  letters  I  go  at  my  lessons 
harder  than  ever,  and  the  little  school  happenings, 
its  games  and  rivalries  and  achievements,  seem 
too  trivial  for  words.  I  keep  measuring  them  by 
Father  and  his  work,  and  what  Richard  is  doing 
so  splendidly  up  there  in  Canada,  and  I  wish  there 
was  something  I  could  do  to  make  them  as  proud 
of  me  as  I  am  of  them.  If  the  family  would  only 
consent  to  my  going  in  for  a  nurse's  training! 
I'm  going  to  talk  Barby  into  letting  me  stop 
school  this  vacation,  and  beginning  this  fall  to 
fit  myself  for  Red  Cross  service. 

"When  Richard  found  that  Mr.  Milford  had  told 
us  about  him  being  the  temporary  head  of  a  fam 
ily,  he  began  mentioning  his  proteges  now  and 
then  in  a  joking  way.  But  two  snapshots  which 
he  sent  of  them  told  more  than  all  his  brief  de 
scriptions.  The  one  labelled  ''Granny"  shows 
more  than  just  a  patient-faced  little  woman  knit 
ting  in  the  doorway.  The  glimpse  of  cottage  be 
hind  her  and  the  neat  door-yard  in  front  shows 
that  he  has  something  to  go  back  to  every  night 


124       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

that  has  a  real  touch  of  home  about  it.  He  boards 
there,  so  that  he  can  keep  an  eye  on  the  boys. 
One  is  five,  the  other  seven.  He  said  he  had  to 
give  the  older  one,  Cuthbert,  a  fatherly  spanking 
one  day,  but  it  didn  't  seem  to  make  any  difference 
in  the  kid's  feeling  towards  him. 

They  seem  to  be  very  fond  of  each  other,  judg 
ing  from  the  second  snapshot,  labelled  "Uncle 
Dick  and  his  acrobats/'  The  two  boys  were 
climbing  up  on  his  shoulders  like  little  monkeys, 
all  three  in  overalls  and  all  grinning  as  if  they 
enjoyed  it.  It  seems  too  queer  for  words  to  think 
of  Richard  being  dignified  and  settled  down 
enough  for  anybody  to  look  up  to  him  as  author 
ity.  But  the  sights  he  sees  are  enough  to  make 
him  old  and  grave  beyond  his  years.  He  has  writ 
ten  several  times  of  going  to  the  station  to  help 
with  a  train-load  of  soldiers  returned  from  the 
front.  They  are  constantly  coming  back,  crip 
pled  and  blinded  and  maimed  in  all  sorts  of  ways. 
He  says  that  sights  like  that  make  him  desperate 
to  get  a  whack  at  the  ones  who  did  it.  He  '11  soon 
be  in  shape  to  do  something  worth  while,  for  he 's 
learning  to  fly,  so  he  can  test  the  machines  they 
are  making. 

Lillian  looked  at  the  acrobat  picture  rather 
sniffily  when  it  came.  I  think  she  took  him  for 
just  an  ordinary  mechanic  in  his  working  clothes. 


AT  HARRINGTON  HALL 


125 


But  when  I  told  her  what  a  Sir  Gareth  deed  he  is 
doing  her  indifference  changed  almost  to  hero- 
worship.  She's  so  temperamental.  Not  long  ago 
he  sent  another  picture  of  himself,  a  large  one, 
in  the  act  of  seating  himself  in  the  plane,  ready 
for  flight.  She  wanted  to  know  if  she  had  any 
thing  I  'd  be  willing  to  trade  with  her  for  it.  She  'd 
gladly  give  me  one  of  Duff  in  place  of  it. 

It  put  me  in  rather  an  awkward  position  for  I 
didn't  want  Duffield's  picture,  and  I  most  cer 
tainly  didn't  want  her  to  have  Richard's. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   MIDSHIPMAN   HOP 

IT  is  all  in  my  Book  of  Chronicles,  written  out 
for  Barby  to  read,  how  we  motored  down  to  An 
napolis  in  the  fresh  April  sunshine,  and  what  we 
wore  and  what  we  did.  But  it  is  only  in  this 
"inmost  sanctum"  of  these  pages  that  "my 
tongue  can  utter  the  thoughts  that  arose  in  me." 

Mrs.  Waldon  was  with  us,  as  enthusiastic  as  a 
girl  over  going  back  to  her  old  home,  and  she 
kept  us  amused  most  of  the  way  with  her  reminis 
cences  of  different  midshipmen,  especially  the 
two  who  married  her  daughters.  But  in  between 
times  my  thoughts  kept  wandering  forward  un 
easily  to  the  hop,  in  spite  of  the  reassuring  knowl 
edge  of  a  lovely  new  coral-pink  party  dress, 
stowed  away  in  the  suitcase  under  my  feet,  and 
I  couldn  't  help  feeling  a  bit  nervous  over  the  com 
ing  event. 

It  would  be  the  first  dance  I  had  ever  gone  to 
among  strangers,  and  I  kept  thinking,  "Suppose 
I'd  be  a  wall-flower!"  Then,  too,  I  was  a  trifle 

126 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  127 

agitated  over  the  prospect  of  seeing  Mr.  Tucker 
again,  the  most  congenial  man  I  had  ever  met. 
Naturally  I  wanted  to  meet  him  again,  but  I 
shrank  from  doing  so,  certain  that  the  sight  of 
me  would  recall  to  his  mind  that  humiliating  affair 
of  the  borrowed  slippers  and  my  old  Mary-Jane 
pumps.  I  was  wild  to  know  if  he  still  remembered 
me,  or  if  he  had  forgotten  "both  the  incident  and 
the  little  girl"  as  Barby  predicted  he  would.  Be 
sides  I  wanted  him  to  see  how  mature  I  had  grown 
since  then — how  boarding  school  broadened  and 
developed  my  views  of  life. 

I  made  up  several  little  opening  speeches  on  the 
way  down,  but  couldn't  decide  which  to  use. 
Whether  to  assume  a  rather  indifferent  air  with  a 
tinge  of  hauteur,  or  to  be  frankly  and  girlishly 
glad  to  see  him,  and  ignore  the  past. 

I  was  still  debating  the  question  in  my  mind 
when  we  drove  into  "little  old  Crabtown"  as  Mrs. 
Waldon  calls  Annapolis.  She  asked  the  chauffeur 
to  drive  by  the  house  where  she  used  to  live,  so 
she  could  point  out  the  place  where  the  midship 
men  used  to  swarm  in  for  their  favorite  "eats" 
whenever  they  could  get  away  from  the  Academy, 
and  where  she  and  her  girls  and  their  guests  had 
those  funny  "guinea-hen  teas"  that  she'd  been 
telling  us  about. 

While  we  were  drawn  up  by  the  curb  in  front 


128       GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STABS 

of  the  house,  a  big,  blond  boy  in  midshipman 
uniform,  swinging  past  at  a  lively  gait,  stopped 
and  saluted,  the  surprise  on  his  face  spreading 
into  a  vast  grin  as  he  recognized  Mrs.  Waldon. 
The  next  instant  he  was  on  the  running  board, 
shaking  hands  with  her,  and  they  began  talking  a 
dialect  none  of  us  could  understand,  about  "drag 
ging"  and  "queens"  and  "Jimmy-legs."  The 
regular  Midshipman  "lingo"  she  explained  after 
ward  when  she  had  introduced  him  to  us  in  ordi 
nary  English.  He  was  Mac  Gordon,  a  sort  of  a 
cousin  of  hers  from  out  West. 

The  conversation  that  we  couldn't  understand 
was  nothing  but  that  she  was  asking  him  if  he 
intended  taking  a  girl  to  the  dance,  and  telling 
him  that  we  would  be  there,  and  asking  if  the 
same  old  guards  were  at  the  gates,  because  she 
intended  to  take  us  over  the  Academy  grounds 
next  day  and  hoped  someone  she  knew  would  be 
detailed  to  escort  us.  I  could  see  right  then  and 
there  that  Mac  was  making  up  his  mind  to  give 
Lillian  a  good  time,  from  the  way  he  kept  look 
ing  at  her,  sort  of  bashfully,  through  his  eye 
lashes. 

Well,  I  needn't  have  worried  about  anything. 
I  had  "crossed  my  bridge  before  I  got  to  it,"  as 
Uncle  Darcy  often  says,  when  I  was  fearing  I'd 
be  a  wall  flower.  I  had  the  first  dance  with  Duf- 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  129 

field,  and  the  moment  the  band  struck  up  I  went 
into  it,  feeling  as  I  did  that  night  in  the  Spanish, 
fandango.  After  that  my  card  filled  up  so  fast 
that  I  had  to  split  dances.  Mac  Gordon  was 
among  the  first,  and  Bailey  Burrell,  who  once 
spent  a  summer  in  Provincetown,  so  long  ago 
that  I'd  nearly  forgotten  him.  But  he  remem 
bered  lots  of  things  about  me;  the  first  time  he 
ever  saw  me,  for  instance,  dressed  up  at  a  bazaar 
as  "A  Little  Maid  of  Long  Ago."  He  even  told 
how  I  was  dressed,  with  a  poke  bonnet  trimmed  in 
rosebuds  over  my  curls,  sitting  in  a  little  rocking 
chair  on  a  table.  And  he  remembered  about  his 
sister  Peggy  breaking  my  prism.  She's  cured  of 
her  lameness  now,  and  is  grown  up  to  be  a  very 
pretty  girl,  Bailey  said.  He  promised  to  bring 
her  picture  around  to  the  hotel  next  day. 

He  and  Duffield  were  so  entertaining,  that  as  I 
talked  and  danced  with  them,  suddenly  Mr.  Tucker 
and  his  opinions  ceased  to  interest  me  any  more. 
When  he  came  hurrying  up  to  speak  to  me  and  to 
ask  for  a  dance,  it  was  the  strangest  thing — his 
personality  seemed  to  have  changed  since  last 
summer.  I  looked  up  to  him  then  as  being  quite 
intellectual  and  fascinating,  but,  seeing  him  now 
with  Duffield  and  Bailey  and  Bob  Mayfield,  he 
seemed  really  rather  insignificant.  They  called 
him  ''Watty,"  and  that  expresses  him  exactly. 


130       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

But  Babe  seemed  to  find  him  very  entertaining, 
and  they  danced  together  a  lot.  Good  old  Babe, 
so  homely  and  so  plain.  Her  nose  was  shiney  and 
her  hair  straggling  and  her  dress  all  sagging 
crooked  before  she'd  been  at  it  an  hour.  But  she 
was  having  a  beautiful  time,  and  there's  not  a  bit 
of  jealousy  in  her  nature.  She  came  up  to  me 
once  to  ask  for  a  pin  and  whispered,  "Georgina, 
you're  perfectly  wonderful  tonight — all  sparkle 
and  glow." 

It  made  me  very  happy,  for  Babe's  compliments 
are  few  and  far  between.  She  is  more  apt  to  speak 
of  your  bad  points  than  your  good  ones,  and  to  be 
moved  to  say  anything  like  that  meant  a  lot  from 
her.  When  I  took  her  over  to  Mrs.  "Waldon  to  get 
some  pins  out  of  her  "chaperone  bag,"  because  I 
didn't  have  any  and  she  needed  nearly  a  dozen,  I 
heard  Mrs.  Waldon  and  Mrs.  Locke  saying  nice 
things  about  me  in  an  undertone,  that  made  me 
think  of  that  little  line  in  "The  Battle  of  Water 
loo,"  about  "cheeks  that  blushed  with  praise  of 
their  own  loveliness." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  if  the  band  would  only 
keep  on  playing  I  could  float  on  and  on  forever 
to  the  music.  Oh,  it's  so  wonderful  to  be  a-tingle 
to  the  very  finger-tips  with  the  joy  of  just  being 
alive — radiantly  alive!  To  have  all  eyes  follow 
ing  you  admiringly  as  if  you  were  a  flower  sway- 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  131 

ing  on  its  stem !  Oh  I  know  this  sounds  conceited, 
written  out  in  black  and  white  in  plain  daylight, 
but  that  night  as  they  played  the  strains  of 
1 ' Poor  Butterfly"  again  and  again,  I  felt  to  the 
fullest  the  joy  of  being  a  social  success,  such  as 
Esther  was.  I  felt  all  wings  and  as  if  I  really 
were — at  least  inwardly — "all  sparkle  and  glow." 
I  wished  that  the  night  need  never,  never  end, 
and  the  music  and  the  heavenly  floating  motion 
need  never  stop.  I  wonder  if  a  time  can  ever 
come  when  I'll  be  so  old  and  stiff  and  feeble  like 
Aunt  Elspeth,  that  the  strains  of  "Poor  Butter 
fly"  will  not  give  me  wings  again.  How  does  one 
ever  become  reconciled  to  being  old? 

Next  morning  when  we  went  over  to  the  Naval 
Academy  none  of  the  boys  could  get  off  to  accom 
pany  us,  but  the  "Jimmy-legs"  detailed  to  escort 
us  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  "Waldon's,  and 
she  has  seen  the  sights  so  many  times  that  she  is 
as  good  as  a  guide-book.  Nothing  escaped  us.  I 
could  have  spent  a  week  in  the  building  where  the 
trophy  flags  are,  especially  in  the  room  that  is 
lined  with  them,  ceiling  and  all.  By  the  time  we 
had  seen  them,  from  Commodore  Perry's  "Don't 
give  up  the  ship"  down  to  the  Chinese  flag  cap 
tured  from  the  Boxers,  we  were  worked  up  to 
such  a  pitch  of  patriotic  pride  that  we  wanted  to 
go  right  off  and  do  something  ourselves  to  add  a 


132       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

guidon  or  an  ensign  to  that  "long  honor  roll  of 
heroic  victories  on  the  high  seas." 

We  stayed  so  long  looking  at  the  flags  that  we 
didn't  have  time  to  go  through  the  chapel  before 
lunch,  but  we  did  take  time  to  watch  the  boys  a 
few  moments  as  the  signal  sounded  for  formation 
and  they  came  marching  in  every  direction  to  form 
in  front  of  Bancroft  Hall.  "We  sat  down  on  some 
benches  under  the  trees  to  watch  them,  and  they 
did  look  so  fine,  marching  along  with  their  precise 
military  swing  that  we  girls  were  wildly  enthusi 
astic  about  them.  I  couldn't  understand  why 
Mrs.  Locke's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  till  Mrs. 
Waldon  said  reminiscently: 

"It  seems  only  yesterday  that  my  girls  and  I 
sat  here,  watching  Oliver  and  Roy  in  that  same 
line,  and  now  one  is  on  a  submarine  and  the  other 
on  a  destroyer." 

And  then  I  remembered  that  out  from  this 
peaceful  spot  where  the  April  flowers  were  spring 
ing  up  everywhere  and  robins  hopping  across  the 
green  grass,  these  boys  might  have  to  go  right  off 
after  "June  week"  into  a  storm  of  shot  and  shell. 
A  storm  far  worse  than  any  that  ever  rained 
around  those  tattered  old  flags  we  had  just  been 
looking  at,  because  now  there  is  the  added  fright- 
fulness  of  mines  and  U-boats,  and  aircraft  over 
head,  dropping  death  from  the  very  skies.  And 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  133 

yet  (it's  shocking  to  confess)  last  night,  while  we 
were  dancing  in  the  very  place  where  the  boys  are 
being  made  strong  and  fit  for  such  fighting,  I 
actually  forgot  that  war  is  going  on. 

I  forgot  it  again  when  the  boys  came  over  after 
lunch  to  take  us  back  to  the  Academy  to  finish 
our  sight-seeing.  There  were  five  of  them,  one 
apiece  on  the  way  over.  But  after  we  got  inside 
the  grounds  Mrs.  Locke  said  she  was  too  tired 
to  climb  any  more  stairs,  and  she'd  seen  every 
thing  several  times  before,  anyhow.  So  she  and 
Mrs.  Waldon  found  a  bench  under  the  trees  fac 
ing  the  water,  where  a  boat  drill  was  going  on, 
and  took  out  their  knitting.  We  strolled  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  boathouse. 

Presently  I  noticed  that  no  matter  how  we 
shifted  positions  as  we  went  up  steps  or  paused  to 
look  out  of  windows,  three  of  the  boys  always 
came  drifting  back  to  me :  Duff  and  Bob  Mayfield 
and  Bailey.  And  I  wasn't  doing  a  single  thing  to 
keep  them  with  me,  only  laughing  at  their  bright 
remarks  and  trying  to  be  agreeable  in  a  general 
way,  for  naturally  I  wanted  them  all  to  like  me. 

But  all  of  a  sudden  I  realized  that  I  was  having 
the  same  effect  on  them  that  Esther  had  on  the 
boys  at  home.  They  were  falling  all  over  them 
selves  to  make  me  like  them.  It  was  the  queerest 
sensation,  that  feeling  of  power  that  came  over 


134       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

me.  And,  although  I  didn't  care  for  one  a  bit 
more  than  for  the  others,  I  was  curious  to  see 
what  would  happen  if  I  were  to  exert  that  myste 
rious  influence  that  I  seemed  to  have  over  each  of 
them.  I  began  to  feel  that  maybe  I  had  not  been 
fair  to  Esther  in  judging  her  so  harshly.  Maybe 
she  had  felt  that  same  way,  and  drifted  into  those 
different  affairs  without  thinking  of  consequences. 

Pretty  soon  I  could  see  that  Duffield  was  maneu 
vering  to  get  the  other  boys  out  of  the  way,  and 
finally  he  succeeded  after  talking  in  an  aside  with 
his  sister  a  moment.  She  immediately  developed 
a  great  interest  in  an  old  wooden  Indian  which 
sits  out  on  the  campus  on  a  pedestal.  It  was  once 
a  figurehead  on  the  prow  of  a  ship,  and  is  sup 
posed  to  be  a  likeness  of  the  old  war-chief 
Tecumpseh.  The  boys  count  it  as  their  mascot. 
They  decorate  it  with  their  colors  before  a  foot 
ball  game  and  run  around  it  for  luck  before 
exams,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 

Before  I  realized  how  it  happened,  Duff  and  I 
were  walking  off  towards  the  chapel  alone,  and 
all  the  others  were  going  down  to  watch  Babe  and 
Lillian  run  around  old  Tecumpseh  for  luck.  It 
was  nearly  an  hour  before  they  joined  us.  We 
strolled  around  inside  the  chapel  and  read  the 
tablets  put  up  in  memory  of  the  heroes  who  had 
once  been  merely  boyish  midshipmen  like  the  one 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  135 

beside  me.  One  had  lost  his  life  in  some  Asiatic 
expedition  among  savages.  It  was  awfully  inter 
esting  to  me,  seeing  it  for  the  first  time,  but  Duf- 
field  kept  interrupting  my  thrills  to  talk  about 
personal  matters. 

By  this  time  I  felt  as  if  I  had  known  him  all 
my  life,  for  Lillian's  daily  reminiscences  of  him 
had  done  more  to  make  me  acquainted  with  him 
than  years  of  occasional  meetings  could  have 
done.  So  it  didn't  seem  as  startling  as  it  would 
have  been  otherwise  when  he  suddenly  became 
very  personal.  We  were  sitting  in  one  of  the  seats 
back  under  the  gallery.  The  few  tourists  wan 
dering  about  were  up  near  the  chancel,  whisper 
ing  together  and  looking  up  at  the  memorial  win 
dows.  We  talked  almost  in  whispers,  too,  of 
course,  being  in  this  shrine  of  heroes  as  well  as  a 
place  of  worship,  and  that  in  itself  gave  a  more 
intimate  tone  to  our  conversation. 

Duffield  told  me  that  he  liked  me  better  than 
any  girl  he  ever  met  in  his  life.  That  he  felt  he 
had  known  me  for  years,  for  Lillian  quoted  me 
so  often  both  in  her  letters  and  visits.  And  he 
wanted  me  to  promise  to  correspond  with  him, 
and  to  give  him  my  picture  to  put  in  the  back  of 
his  watch,  so's  he'll  have  it  with  him  when  he 
goes  off  on  his  long  cruise  this  summer.  Of 
course  I  wouldn't  promise.  I  told  him  I  didn't 


know  him  well  enough,  but  he  wouldn't  give  up, 
and  we  kept  on  arguing  about  it  for  a  long  time, 
in  a  half -joking,  half-serious  way,  till  I  was  almost 
tempted  to  say  I  would,  just  to  see  what  would 
happen. 

Then  the  others  came  in,  and  we  all  went  down 
in  the  crypt  to  see  the  tomb  of  John  Paul  Jones. 
And  even  down  there  in  that  solemn  place  where  a 
guard  keeps  vigil  all  the  time,  and  the  massive 
bronze  wreaths  and  the  flags  and  the  silence  make 
it  so  impressive,  he  edged  in  between  Bailey  and 
me  and  stooped  down  to  whisper  laughingly,  "I 
won't  give  up  the  ship.  You  might  as  well 
promise. ' ' 

But  just  at  that  moment  Bailey  called  my  atten 
tion  to  the  ceiling  above  the  tomb.  A  map  of  the 
heavens  is  painted  on  it,  with  all  the  constellations 
that  the  mariners  steer  their  ships  by.  Looking 
up  at  those  stars  set  above  the  last  resting  place 
of  the  old  Admiral,  Barby's  words  came  back  to 
me  as  if  she  were  right  at  my  elbow : 

"There  are  people  like  that — there  are  friend 
ships  like  that — there  is  love  like  that — as  depend 
able  as  the  stars. ' '  If  Esther  had  been  the  ' '  Star ' ' 
I  thought  her  she  never  would  have  drifted  into 
those  affairs  with  Eichard  and  John  Wynne  and 
all  the  others.  I  think  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
I  might  have  let  myself  drift  a  bit,  for  it  certainly 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  137 

was  a  temptation  to  see  how  much  Duffield  might 
grow  to  care  for  me,  although  I  was  sure  I  could 
never  feel  any  deep  and  lasting  sentiment  for  him 
— the  real  Uncle-Darcy-and-Aunt-Elspeth  kind. 

While  I  stood  looking  up  at  that  map  of  the 
heavens,  with  these  thoughts  chasing  through  my 
mind,  Babe  came  up  and  nudged  me  and  told  me 
for  mercy's  sake  to  quit  star-gazing  in  a  cellar. 
They  were  all  ready  and  waiting  to  go.  Babe  has 
a  lot  of  curiosity.  As  we  started  towards  the 
stairs  she  gave  me  a  puzzled  look  which  said  as 
plainly  as  words,  "Now  what  did  you  do  that 
for?" 

I  had  stopped  to  lay  my  hand  on  a  banner 
bearing  the  name  of  the  old  Admiral's  flag-ship. 
It  was  a  blue  one  with  the  name  of  the  ship  in 
white — Bonhomme  Richard.  I  could  not  have 
told  her  why  I  did  it,  had  she  asked  in  words,  in 
stead  of  with  her  eyes.  Even  to  myself  I  could 
not  explain  the  impulse,  save  that  the  name 
brought  a  thought  of  Richard  Moreland,  and  the 
feeling  that  what  he  had  done  made  him,  in  his 
boyish  way,  as  worthy  of  bronze  wreaths  and 
blue  banners  as  any  of  those  whose  tablets  shone 
in  the  chapel  above.  Seeing  those  tablets  and  the 
tomb  and  that  map  of  stars,  made  my  old  dreams 
come  back,  my  old  longing  to  do  something  and 
be  something  in  the  world  really  worth  while.  I 


138       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

simply  couldn't  stand  it  to  go  through  life  and 
not  write  my  name  on  the  world's  memory  as  it 
was  written  in  the  silver  of  my  christening  cup. 
Then  I  wondered  what  Richard  would  think  of 
Duffield. 

That  evening  the  same  five  boys  who  had  been 
with  us  in  the  afternoon  were  lucky  enough  to 
get  off  again  and  come  down  to  the  hotel.  Duf 
field  and  Mrs.  Waldon's  cousin  were  allowed  to 
come  earlier,  in  time  for  dinner.  Afterwards  we 
danced  in  the  parlors  and  had  just  as  an  entranc 
ing  a  time  as  we  had  the  night  before, 

"Where  Youth  and  Pleasure  meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet/' 

Duffield  was  all  that  Lillian  had  bragged  he  was. 
The  more  I  saw  him  the  better  I  liked  him.  He 
was  so  sweet  to  her  and  so  dear  to  his  mother  and 
so  lovely  to  me,  that  I  began  to  have  a  real  pang 
at  the  thought  of  him  going  off  on  that  long  cruise 
and  our  never  meeting  again  perhaps,  as  long  as 
we  lived. 

I  found  myself  liking  him  so  much  better  as  the 
evening  wore  on,  and  discovering  so  many  attrac 
tive  things  about  him,  that  I  was  halfway  fright 
ened.  I  was  afraid  that  I  was  doing  what  Barby 
said — ' '  putting  a  rainbow  around  him. ' '  That  the 


THE  MIDSHIPMAN  HOP  139 

charm  I  saw  about  him  was  maybe  partly  of  my 
own  imagining.  It  worried  me  dreadfully.  How 
is  one  to  know?  As  we  floated  through  the,  last 
dance  together  I  began  to  think  that  if  we  were 
thrown  together  often  I  might  find  that  he  was 
the  one  person  in  the  world  I  would  care  for  above 
all  others.  And  yet,  John  "Wynne  had  thought 
that  about  Esther  and  so  had  Richard.  I  wished 
I  had  some  absolutely  sure  test,  some  magic 
charm,  by  which  I  could  know  the  gold  of  real 
love  from  the  imitation  that  glitters  like  it. 

I  lost  the  rhinestone  buckle  off  one  of  my  slip 
pers  and  my  coral  dress  caught  on  a  jagged  hoop 
of  one  of  the  tubs  that  the  palms  were  in,  and 
tore  such  a  long  slit  in  it  that  I  can  never  wear  it 
again.  But  it  has  served  its  purpose  in  the  world. 
I've  had  two  perfectly  heavenly  evenings  in  it. 
I've  saved  a  handsbreadth  of  its  pink  loveliness  to 
put  away  and  keep  in  memory  of  that  happy  time. 

The  boys  wouldn't  go  home  until  Mrs.  Locke 
promised  to  bring  us  down  again  for  June  week. 
She  promised,  but  I'm  almost  sure  Barby  won't 
let  me  go.  The  last  thing  Duffield  did  was  to  ask 
me  again  for  that  picture.  ''Please,"  he  said  in 
an  undertone  when  he  stooped  to  pick  up  my  hand 
kerchief.  And  he  said  it  again  in  a  meaning  half- 
whisper  as  we  shook  hands  all  around  in  the  gen 
eral  chorus  of  ''Goodbye  till  June  week." 


CHAPTER  XII 

"SHOD  GOES  SURE" 

JUNE  week  has  come  and  gone,  but  I  was  not 
there  when  the  midshipmen  went  marching  by  in 
their  white  uniforms  across  the  green  mall,  and 
the  band  played  and  parasols  and  summer  dresses 
fluttered  their  gay  colors  from  the  Armory  to  the 
training  ship. 

Father  wrote  that  he  was  coming,  and  would 
take  me  home  with  him  if  I  didn't  mind  missing 
commencement.  I  did  mind,  terribly,  but  it  was 
nothing  when  weighed  in  the  balance  with  travel 
ling  back  to  the  Cape  with  him  and  being  with  him 
a  whole  week. 

So  Babe  and  Lillian  went  without  me,  but  it  was 
some  comfort  afterward  to  hear  that  the  boys 
all  seemed  disappointed  because  I  wasn't  there. 
They  sent  ever  so  many  nice  messages.  Duffield 
sent  me  a  Lucky  Bag,  the  midshipmen's  Annual, 
full  of  jokes  about  each  other  and  some  very 
attractive  pictures  both  of  the  men  and  the  build- 

140 


1 '  SHOD  GOES  SURE ' '  141 

ings.  There  was  a  splendid  one  of  him,  and  he 
drew  a  little  sketch  of  Commodore  Perry's  flag 
on  the  margin,  changing  the  motto  to  the  words, 
"Won't  give  up  the  ship." 

Babe  brought  back  a  Lucky  Bag,  too;  Watson 
gave  it  to  her.  She  also  had  a  postal  card  of 
that  old  Indian  figurehead,  Tecumpseh.  I  believe 
Babe  must  have  made  some  wish  while  running 
around  it  which  came  true,  or  else  Watson  gave 
her  the  postal.  It  surely  must  have  some  associa 
tion  for  her,  for  she  brought  it  back  to  Province- 
town  and  has  it  now,  framed  in  a  carved  ivory 
frame,  the  handsomest  one  in  the  house,  and 
wholly  unsuitable  for  an  old  wooden  Indian.  She 
keeps  it  on  her  side  of  the  bureau,  and  Viola 
simply  loathes  it. 

Father  and  I  had  a  delightfully  cosy  visit  on  the 
way  home.  We  stayed  all  night  in  Boston  and 
came  over  on  the  boat.  He  has  been  under  a 
frightful  strain  and  shows  it;  looks  so  worn  and 
tired  and  has  ever  so  many  more  gray  hairs  than 
lie  had  a  year  ago.  He  came  right  from  the  war 
zone,  and  twice  has  been  on  ships  that  had  to  go 
to  the  rescue  of  torpedoed  vessels  and  pick  up  pas 
sengers  adrift  in  life-boats. 

I  couldn't  get  him  to  talk  much  about  such 
things.  He  said  he  was  trying  to  put  them  out  of 
Ms  mind  as  much  as  possible,  and  was  hungry  to 


get  back  to  the  sand  dunes  and  just  peaceful 
women  folks.  His  eyes  followed  Barby's  every 
movement.  At  times  they  had  a  grave,  wistful  ex 
pression  which  gave  me  dreadful  forebodings. 

Coming  over  on  the  boat  he  questioned  me  about 
the  course  of  study  at  Harrington  Hall — how  far 
I'd  gone  in  mathematics  and  everything.  Then 
he  asked  what  I  thought  about  learning  type 
writing  this  summer,  and  taking  a  short  practical 
business  course  in  Mr.  Carver's  office.  I  was  so 
astonished  I  couldn't  speak  for  a  moment.  All  I 
could  think  of  was  Chicken-Little's  cry — "The 
sky's  a-f ailing.  I  was  sitting  under  a  rose-bush 
and  a  piece  fell  on  me." 

Finally,  instead  of  answering  his  question,  I 
blurted  out  the  one  I  was  fixing  to  ask  him  later 
on,  after  I'd  paved  the  way  for  it  and  led  up  to  it 
diplomatically,  about  my  stopping  school  and  tak 
ing  the  training  for  a  Red  Cross  nurse.  The  mo 
ment  it  was  out  I  knew  I  had  bungled  it  by  being 
so  abrupt.  He  simply  waved  it  aside  as  impos 
sible.  He  said  I  didn  't  understand  the  conditions 
at  the  front  at  all.  They  needed  women  there,  not 
immature  girls  unfitted  both  physically  and  men 
tally  to  cope  with  its  horrors.  They  would  be  ner 
vous  wrecks  in  a  short  time.  He  said  he  was 
speaking  from  a  physician's  standpoint.  He  rec 
ognized  the  Joan  of  Arc  spirit  in  the  school-girls 


"SHOD  GOES  SURE"  143 

who  offered  themselves.  It  was  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  and  touching  things  the  war  had  called 
forth,  but  they  needed  something  more  than  youth 
ful  enthusiasm  and  a  passion  for  sacrifice.  When 
I  was  through  school  if  I  still  wanted  to  take  the 
training  he  wouldn't  say  a  word,  but  now 

The  shake  of  his  head  and  the  gesture  of  his 
hand  as  he  said  that  one  word  dismissed  the  sub 
ject  so  utterly  that  I  simply  couldn't  insist.  I 
couldn't  offer  a  single  one  of  the  arguments  which 
I  had  stored  up  to  answer  him  with  in  case  he  ob 
jected,  as  I  knew  he  would. 

Then  he  said  he'd  always  hoped  to  give  me  some 
practical  business  training,  jnst  as  if  I'd  been  a 
boy,  and  now  the  war  was  making  it  even  more 
necessary  that  I  should  have  it.  If  I'd  been  a  boy 
he  would  have  wanted  me  to  go  into  the  Cold 
Storage  Plant  here  that  we  have  an  interest  in, 
long  enough  for  me  to  learn  how  it  is  carried  on 
and  what  its  success  depends  upon.  Mr.  Samuel 
Carver  II  is  at  the  head  of  it,  and  Titcomb  Car 
ver  and  Sammy  III  will  take  it  up  when  they're 
through  college.  But  they'll  be  the  first  to  enlist 
when  the  call  comes.  They're  that  kind.  And  if 
they  never  come  back  the  business  will  be  event 
ually  turned  over  to  strangers.  He  wants  me  to 
know  enough  about  it  to  safeguard  our  interests. 

I  was  perfectly  aghast  at  the  idea.     Me,  not 


144       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

seventeen  till  next  month,  spending  all  my  vaca 
tion  shut  up  in  an  office,  banging  on  a  typewriter, 
with  the  whole  free  sparkling  harbor  outside  call 
ing  to  me.  I'd  planned  such  good  times  for  this 
summer,  a  regular  "under-the-rose-bush"  kind, 
no  lessons,  no  rules.  Now  not  only  was  the  sky 
a-falling  over  my  particular  bush,  it  was  hitting 
me  hard. 

The  boat  had  just  rounded  the  point  when 
Father  finished  unfolding  his  plan,  and  we  were 
leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  upper  deck  watch 
ing  for  the  old  town  to  come  in  view.  For  the 
first  time  it  failed  to  look  beautiful  to  me.  The 
straight,  ugly  lines  of  the  huge  Storage  plant 
loomed  up  till  it  seemed  the  biggest  thing  along 
shore  except  the  Pilgrim  monument.  That,  of 
course,  stretched  up  grim  and  stern  above  every 
thing  else,  and  looked  across  at  me  as  if  it  knew 
the  hard  thing  Father  had  just  asked  me  to  do. 
I  felt  that  it  heard  the  rebellious  answer  I  was 
making  to  myself. 

"I  can't." 

"You  must,"  it  answered  back,  as  it  had  done 
all  my  life.  "It's  your  duty.  The  idea  of  a  de 
scendant  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  and  the  Minute 
Men  shirking  her  duty!" 

It  always  gets  back  at  me  that  way.  It  knows 
that  the  stern  and  rockbound  Huntingdon  part  of 


1 1 SHOD  GOES  SURE"  145 

me  could  make  only  one  answer  when  Father  put 
the  matter  to  me  the  way  he  did.  It  was  a  sacri 
fice,  for  I  had  hoped  to  begin  my  new  novel  this 
summer.  But  I  had  a  sort  of  righteous,  uplifted 
feeling  after  I  had  consented,  such  as  I  think  the 
martyrs  must  have  had,  which  is  the  reward  of 
sacrifice.  It's  queer  what  a  satisfaction  one  can 
get  out  of  that  martyr  feeling  at  times. 

But  I  was  ashamed  of  it  next  morning.  I  was 
going  through  the  hall  to  join  Barby  and  Father 
on  the  porch  when  I  heard  them  talking  about  me. 

"No,  Judson,  she's  only  a  child.  I  can't  bear 
to  have  her  go  out  into  the  rough  business  world 
this  early.  There'll  be  time  enough  for  that  if 
some  actual  need  should  arise. ' ' 

"But,  Barbara,  to  let  her  grow  up  unprepared 
for  what  is  almost  sure  to  happen,  would  be  like 
sending  her  out  on  a  stony  road  in  her  little  bare 
feet.  'Shod  goes  sure,'  Uncle  Darcy  used  to  say. 
If  she's  properly  shod  she'll  be  spared  much  pain 
and  weariness.  If  you  could  only  realize  what  lies 
ahead  of  us — if  you  could  only  see  what  I  have 
seen " 

I  walked  out  on  the  porch  just  then  and  he  put 
out  his  hand  to  draw  me  to  a  seat  beside  him. 
Then  he  began  to  tell  us  of  what  he  has  just  seen 
in  France  and  England,  the  splendid  way  the 
women  and  girls  over  there  are  rising  up  and 


146       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

shouldering  their  burdens.  Of  their  work  in  the 
munitions  factories  and  on  farms  and  in  railroad 
yards.  From  peeresses  to  peasants  they  stop  at 
nothing  which  needs  doing,  from  oiling  a  locomo 
tive  to  cleaning  out  a  stable.  Personal  affairs  are 
no  longer  regarded.  Personal  comfort  no  longer 
counts.  Safety  doesn't  count.  Life  itself  doesn't 
count.  The  only  thing  that  does  count  is  winning 
the  war,  and  they  are  giving  themselves  magnifi 
cently,  body  and  soul,  "as  one  who  does  a  deed 
for  love  nor  counts  it  sacrifice. ' ' 

It's  like  listening  to  one  of  the  old  Crusaders 
when  Father  talks  that  way.  It's  a  holy  war  to 
him.  When  I  compared  the  selfish,  easy  existence 
I  had  planned  for  myself  this  vacation  with  what 
the  girls  over  there  are  doing,  and  remembered 
how  noble  I  had  considered  myself  for  giving  it 
np,  I  felt  ashamed  of  having  called  it  a  sacrifice. 
I  made  up  my  mind  then  and  there  that  I'll  make 
good  in  the  way  Father  wants  me  to  if  it  kills  me. 
He  shall  never  have  cause  to  regret  my  being  just 
a  girl.  I'm  sure  he  has  envied  Mr.  Carver  his 
sons  many  a  time,  but  I'll  show  him  I  can  answer 
my  Country's  call  when  it  comes,  fully  as  well  as 
Titcomb  or  Sammy  III.  In  the  meantime,  I'll 
put  in  my  best  licks  at  getting  shod  for  whatever 
road  that  lies  ahead. 

Of  course  I  didn't  start  till  Father's  visit  was 


"SHOD  GOES  SURE"  147 

over,  but  he  took  nie  down  to  the  office  one  morn 
ing  and  made  all  the  arrangements.  It  is  the  old 
Mr.  Carver,  Grandfather  Huntingdon's  friend, 
who  is  to  take  me  in  hand.  Sammy  Senior,  every 
body  calls  him.  He  doesn't  do  much  now  but  sign 
checks  and  attend  to  some  of  the  correspondence, 
so  he'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  attend  to  me,  and 
seems  glad  to  do  it. 

It  was  a  solemn  sort  of  morning,  for  we  went 
into  Mr.  Sammy  Senior's  office,  and  Father  took 
his  private  box  out  of  the  safe  and  looked  over 
the  papers  in  it.  He  made  a  lot  of  changes  and 
told  both  of  us  what  he  told  me  up  in  the  garret 
last  time  he  was  home,  and  a  lot  more  besides. 
There  are  certain  bonds  he  wants  turned  over  to 
Uncle  Darcy's  grandchildren,  Elspeth  and  little 
Judson,  when  they  are  old  enough  to  go  to  col 
lege.  Judson  is  Father's  namesake.  He  ex 
plained  to  Mr.  Sammy  Senior  that  their  father, 
Dan  Darcy,  saved  his  life  once  over  in  China, 
nursing  him,  that  time  he  caught  the  strange  dis 
ease  which  was  attacking  the  sailors.  Father 
had  gone  over  there  to  study  it  for  the  govern 
ment. 

Dan  married  Tippy's  niece,  Belle  Triplett,  after 
he  came  home  and  is  working  now  in  the  wireless 
station  over  at  Highland  Light,  but  the  govern 
ment  wants  him  for  more  important  work  in  the 


148       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

Navy,  and  Father  wants  to  make  sure  those  chil 
dren  are  provided  for  in  case  anything  happens 
to  Dan.  Naturally  that  led  to  our  going  over  the 
whole  story.  How  Dan  disappeared  from  town 
under  a  cloud  years  ago,  everybody  thinking  he 
was  the  thief,  instead  of  his  friend  Emmet  Potter. 
(Dan  just  went  away,  like  a  scapegoat  into  the 
wilderness  to  shield  him.)  And  how  a  year  later 
Emmet  was  drowned,  trying  to  save  some  people 
from  a  wreck  on  Peaked  Hill  bars,  and  the  town 
put  up  a  monument  in  his  memory.  And  then  a 
long  time  after  that  Richard  and  I  found  his  con 
fession  in  an  old  musket  that  we  were  cleaning  up 
to  play  pirate  with. 

It  was  as  dramatic  as  a  real  play,  the  finding 
of  that  confession,  and  I  enjoyed  telling  it  again 
to  such  an  appreciative  audience.  How  Richard 
and  I  were  sitting  in  the  swing  in  front  of  Uncle 
Darcy's  door,  polishing  the  brass  plate  on  the 
stock,  when  we  found  it,  and  I  went  screaming  into 
the  house  that  Danny  was  innocent.  How  Belle, 
who  happened  to  be  there  by  the  strangest  coin 
cidence,  read  the  confession  over  Uncle  Darcy's 
shoulder,  and  cried  out  ' l  Emmet  a  thief !  God  in 
heaven,  it  will  kill  me ! ' '  and  how  she  carried  on 
like  a  crazy  woman  till  she  made  Uncle  Darcy 
promise  he'd  never  tell  till  she  gave  him  permis 
sion,  although  he  would  have  given  his  life  to  wipe 


1  'SHOD  GOES  SUKE"  149 

the  stain  from  Danny's  name.  She  was  engaged 
to  Emmett  when  he  died,  and  had  been  worship 
ping  him  as  a  hero  up  to  this  time.  She  didn't 
know  till  later  that  one  of  the  reasons  that  Dan 
took  Emmet's  disgrace  on  himself  was  to  shield 
her,  because  he  had  cared  for  her  all  along  as 
much  as  Emmet  did. 

Then  Father  took  up  the  story  again,  and  told 
how  my  letter  reached  him  over  there  in  China 
and  led  to  the  discovery  that  the  silent  young 
American  who  had  saved  his  life  was  no  other 
than  Dan,  who  didn't  know  till  then  that  Emmet 
had  confessed  and  that  exile  was  no  longer  neces 
sary.  "And  so,"  said  Father  in  conclusion,  "he 
came  back  and  married  Belle,  and,  thanks  to  the 
little  pirates,  they  lived  happily  ever  after." 

"That  would  make  a  rattling  good  movie,"  Mr. 
Carver  said.  *  *  That  ship-wreck  scene,  and  finding 
the  confession,  and  you  children  burying  that 
pouch  of  gold-pieces  in  the  sand,  for  the  storm 
to  cover  up  forever.  If  the  little  pirate  can  write 
it  as  well  as  she  can  tell  it  there 's  the  material  all 
right." 

All  the  way  home  I  kept  thinking  of  his  sug 
gestion.  I  had  never  used  material  from  real  life 
before.  I  had  always  made  up  my  characters.  But 
now  I  began  to  see  some  of  the  familiar  town  peo 
ple  in  a  new  light.  Plain,  quiet  Dan,  doing  Ms 


150       GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STABS 

deed  regardless  of  the  disgrace  it  brought  upon 
him,  was  a  real  Sir  Gareth.  And  dear  old  Uncle 
Darcy,  vowed  to  silence  so  long,  what  a  heroic  part 
he  had  played ! 

"I'll  try  it  some  day  on  the  typewriter,"  I  re 
solved.  Then  I  thought  Father  was  right  when  he 
said  "shod  goes  sure."  Knowing  how  to  use  the 
typewriter  will  be  a  help  in  my  literary  career.  It 
begins  to  look  as  if  every  road  I  happen  to  take 
leads  into  the  one  of  my  great  ambition. 


CHAPTEK  XIH 

A  WORK-A-DAY  VACATION 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  we  crossed  the 
sandy  court  and  went  through  the  picket  gate  into 
Uncle  Darcy's  grassy  dooryard.  As  usual  the  old 
yellow-nosed  cat  was  curled  up  in  one  of  the  seats 
in  the  wooden  swing,  and  the  place  was  so  quiet 
and  cool  after  the  glare  of  the  sun  and  sand  we 
had  tramped  through,  that  Father  took  off  his  hat 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

Belle  and  Dan  live  next  door  now  in  the  cottage 
where  Mrs.  Saggs  used  to  live.  We  could  see 
little  Elspeth's  flaxen  head  bobbing  up  and  down 
as  she  played  in  the  sandpile  on  the  other  side  of 
the  fence.  I  was  just  thinking  that  I  was  no  big 
ger  than  she  is  now  when  I  first  began  coming 
down  to  Fishburn  Court,  when  Father  startled  me 
by  saying  the  same  thing.  He  was  just  Elspeth's 
size  when  he  began  tagging  after  Uncle  Darcy  all 
day  long. 

Aunt  Elspeth  sat  dozing  in  her  wheeled  chair 
151 


152       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

inside  the  screen  door.  When  we  went  in  she 
didn't  recognize  Father.  Had  to  be  told  who  he 
was.  But  when  she  got  it  through  her  head  that 
it  was  "Judson,  grown  up  and  come  back  from 
sea/'  she  was  fairly  childish  in  her  welcome  of 
him.  She  wanted  him  to  hide  as  he  used  to  do 
when  he  was  a  boy  and  let  "Dan'l"  guess  who 
was  there  when  he  came  home.  And  Father  hu 
mored  her,  and  wre  went  out  into  the  kitchen  when 
we  heard  Uncle  Darcy  click  the  gate-latch.  Then 
in  her  childish  delight  at  his  home-coming  she 
forgot  everything  else.  She  even  forgot  we  were 
in  the  house,  so,  of  course,  couldn't  ask  him  to 
guess  who  was  there. 

He  came  in  breathing  hard,  for  the  length  of 
the  town  is  a  long  walk  when  one  is  "eighty  odd." 
He  had  been  crying  a  church  supper,  and  was  so 
tired  his  feet  could  scarcely  drag  him  along.  But 
he  didn't  sit  down — just  put  the  big  bell  on  the 
mantel  and  went  over  to  Aunt  Elspeth.  And  then, 
somehow,  the  tenderness  of  a  lifetime  seemed  ex 
pressed  in  the  way  he  bent  down  and  laid  his 
weatherbeaten  old  cheek  against  her  wrinkled  one 
for  a  moment,  and  took  her  helpless  old  hands  in 
his,  feeling  them  anxiously  and  trying  to  warm 
them  between  his  rough  palms. 

There  was  something  so  touching  in  his  un 
spoken  devotion  and  the  way  she  clung  to  him,  as 


A  WORK-A-DAY  VACATION         153 

if  the  brief  separation  of  a  few  hours  had  been 
one  of  days,  that  I  felt  a  lump  in  my  throat  and 
glanced  up  to  see  that  the  little  scene  seemed  to 
affect  Father  in  the  same  way. 

Then  Uncle  Darcy  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and 
brought  out  a  paper  bag  and  laid  it  in  her  lap, 
watching  her  with  a  pleased  twinkle  in  his  dim 
eyes,  while  she  eagerly  untwisted  the  neck  and 
peered  in  to  find  a  big,  sugary  cinnamon  bun. 

"You're  so  good  to  me,  Dan'l,"  she  said  quaver- 
ingly.  "Always  so  good.  You're  the  best  man 
the  Lord  ever  made." 

And  he  patted  her  shoulder  and  pulled  the  cush 
ions  up  behind  her,  saying,  "Tut,  lass!  You'll 
spoil  me,  talking  that  way." 

Then  Father  cleared  his  throat  and  went  into 
the  room,  and  Uncle  Darcy 's  delight  at  seeing  him 
was  worth  going  far  to  see.  You'd  have  thought 
it  was  his  own  son  come  home  again.  But  even  in 
the  midst  of  all  they  had  to  say  to  each  other  it 
was  plain  that  his  mind  was  on  Aunt  Elspeth's 
comfort.  Twice  he  got  up  to  slap  at  a  fly  which 
had  found  its  way  in  through  the  screens  to  her 
annoyance,  and  another  time  to  change  the  posi 
tion  of  her  chair  when  the  shifting  sunlight 
reached  her  face. 

On  the  way  home  I  asked,  "Did  you  ever  see 
such  devotion?"  I  was  so  sure  that  Father  would 


answer  that  lie  never  had,  that  I  was  surprised 
and  somewhat  taken  aback  by  his  emphatic  yes. 
His  face  looked  so  stern  and  sad  that  I  couldn't 
understand  it.  "We  walked  nearly  a  block  before 
he  added, 

"It  was  an  old,  old  couple,  just  like  Uncle  Darcy 
and  Aunt  Elspeth.  I  kept  thinking  of  them  all 
the  time  I  was  at  Fishburn  Court.  Their  home 
was  just  as  peaceful,  their  devotion  to  each  other 
as  absolute.  It  was  in  Belgium.  The  Huns  came 
and  tore  them  apart.  Bayoneted  her  right  before 
the  old  man's  agonized  eyes,  and  drove  him  off 
with  the  other  villagers  like  frightened,  helpless 
sheep,  to  die  in  the  open.  "When  he  wandered  back 
weeks  afterward,  dazed  and  half-starved,  he  found 
every  home  in  the  village  in  ruins.  His  was 
burned  to  the  ground.  Only  the  well  was  left,  but 
when  he  drank  of  it  he  nearly  died.  It  had  been 
poisoned.  He's  in  an  asylum  now,  near  Paris. 
Fortunately,  his  memory  is  gone." 

When  I  cried  out  at  the  hideousness  of  it,  Father 
put  his  arm  across  my  shoulder  a  moment  saying, 
''Forgive  me,  dear.  I  wish  I  might  keep  the 
knowledge  of  such  horrors  from  you,  but  we  are 
at  a  place  now  where  even  the  youngest  must  be 
made  to  realize  that  the  only  thing  in  the  world 
worth  while  is  the  winning  of  this  war.  Some 
times  I  feel  that  I  must  stop  every  one  I  meet  and 


A  WORK-A-DAY  VACATION          155 

tell  them  of  the  horrors  I  have  seen,  till  they  feel 
and  see  as  I  do." 

I  understood  what  was  in  his  mind  when  a  little 
farther  along  we  met  two  young  Portuguese  fish 
ermen.  They  were  Joseph  and  Manuel  Fayal.  He 
had  known  them  ever  since  the  days  when  they 
used  to  go  past  our  place  dragging  their  puppy  in 
a  rusty  tin  pan  tied  to  a  string,  and  using  such 
shocking  language  that  I  was  forbidden  to  play 
with  them.  They  are  big,  handsome  men  now,  with 
black  mustaches  and  such  a  flashing  of  white  teeth 
and  black  eyes  when  they  smile  that  the  sudden 
illumination  of  their  faces  makes  me  think  of  a 
lightning-bug. 

They  flashed  that  kind  of  a  smile  at  Father, 
when  he  stopped  to  shake  hands  with  them,  plainly 
flattered  at  his  remembering  their  names.  I  could 
see  them  eyeing  his  uniform  admiringly,  and  they 
seemed  much  impressed  when  he  said,  "We  need 
you  in  the  navy,  boys,"  and  went  on  in  his  grave 
way  to  put  the  situation  before  them  in  a  few 
forceful  sentences. 

He  was  that  way  all  the  time  he  "was  at  home. 
It  made  no  difference  where  we  went  or  what  we 
were  doing,  he  couldn't  shake  off  the  horror  of 
things  he  had  seen,  and  the  knowledge  that  they 
were  still  going  on.  Several  times  he  said  he  felt 
he  oughtn't  to  be  taking  even  a  week's  rest.  It 


156       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

was  like  taking  a  vacation  from  fighting  mad  dogs. 
Every  moment  should  be,  spent  in  beating  them 
off. 

It  worried  Barby  dreadfully  to  see  him  in  such 
a  state.  She's  afraid  he'll  break  down  under  the 
strain.  He's  promised  her  that  when  the  war  is 
over  he'll  ask  for  a  year's  leave. 

Father  has  been  gone  two  weeks.  It  was  hard 
to  see  him  go  this  time,  so  much  harder  than  usual, 
that  I  am  glad  to  have  my  days  filled  up  with  work 
as  well  as  play.  Down  at  the  office  I'm  so  busy 
there  isn't  time  to  remember  tilings  that  hurt. 
This  arrangement  isn't  half  as  bad  as  it  sounded 
at  first.  In  fact,  it  isn't  at  all  bad,  and  there's 
lots  about  it  that  I  enjoy  immensely. 

For  one  thing  I  go  only  in  the  mornings.  The 
stenographer  is  a  nice  Boston  girl  who  gives  me 
lessons  in  shorthand  in  between  times  when  she 
isn't  busy,  and  I'm  getting  a  lot  by  myself,  just 
out  of  a  text  book.  I  can  already  run  the  type 
writer,  and  I  certainly  bless  Tippy  these  days  for 
giving  me  such  a  thorough  training  in  spelling. 
Old  Mr.  Carver  is  a  darling.  He  likes  taking  me 
around  inside  the  business  and  showing  me  how 
the  wheels  go  round.  It  may  sound  disrespectful, 
to  say  it  gives  him  a  chance  to  show  off,  but  I 
don't  mean  it  that  way. 


A  WORK-A-DAY  VACATION          157 

I'm  learning  all  about  the  weirs  and  the  fisher 
ies  connected  with  the  Plant,  and  where  our  mar 
kets  are,  and  what  makes  the  prices  go  up  and 
down,  and  where  we  buy  chemicals  to  freeze  with 
and  what  companies  we're  insured  with  and  all 
that  sort  of  thing.  It's  amazing  to  discover  how 
many  things  one  has  to  know — banking  and  pay 
rolls  and  shipping  and  important  clauses  in  con 
tracts.  I  never  before  realized  how  pitifully  ig 
norant  I  am  and  what  a  world  full  of  things  there 
is  to  learn  outside  of  the  school  room. 

One  of  his  ways  of  testing  how  much  I  have 
learned  about  shipments  and  prices  and  things,  is 
to  hand  me  a  letter  to  answer,  just  for  practice, 
not  to  send  away.  I've  always  been  told  that  I 
write  such  good  letters  that  I  was  awfully  morti 
fied  over  the  way  that  he  smiled  at  my  first  at 
tempt.  I  had  prided  myself  on  its  being  quite  a 
literary  production.  But  I  caught  on  right  away 
what  he  meant,  when  he  told  me  in  his  whimsical 
fashion  that  "frills  are  out  of  place  in  a  business 
letter.  They  must  be  severely  plain  and  tailor- 
made. "  Then  he  gave  me  a  sample  and  after  that 
it  was  easy  enough.  I've  answered  three  "ac 
cording  to  my  lights/'  as  he  puts  it,  that  were 
satisfactory  enough  to  send,  without  any  dicta 
tion  from  him. 

Often  he  drifts  into  little  anecdotes  about  grand- 


158       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

father,  and  lots  of  things  I  never  heard  before 
about  the  Huntingdon  family  and  the  older  town 
people.  Usually  the  mornings  fly  by  so  fast  that 
I'm  surprised  when  the  noon  whistle  blows  and 
it's  time  to  go  home.  At  first  I  brought  my  knit 
ting  along  to  pick  up  at  odd  moments,  such  as 
the  times  when  he  gets  to  reminiscing.  Then  I 
got  so  interested  in  practising  shorthand,  that  I 
began  taking  down  his  conversations,  as  much  as 
I  could  get  of  them.  That  old  saying  of  Uncle 
Darcy's,  "All's  fish  that  comes  to  my  net,"  seems 
to  be  a  true  one.  For  everything  that  comes  my 
way  seems  to  help  along  towards  the  goal  of  my 
ambition.  These  very  tales  I  am  taking  dowTi  in 
shorthand,  once  I  am  proficient  enough  to  catch 
more  than  one  word  in  a  sentence,  may  prove  to 
be  very  valuable  material  for  future  stories. 

It  isn't  turning  out  to  be  a  very  gay  summer 
after  all.  Babe  and  Viola  are  up  in  the  White 
Mountains,  and  Judith  is  tied  at  home  so  closely, 
keeping  house  and  nursing  her  mother  who  has 
been  ill  all  vacation,  that  I  never  see  her  except 
when  I  go  to  the  house.  George  Woodson  is  a 
reporter  on  a  Boston  paper,  and  comes  home  only 
on  Sunday  now  and  then,  and  Richard  seems  to 
have  dropped  entirely  out  of  my  life.  He  says  he 
is  so  busy  these  days  that  there's  never  any  time 


A  WOKK-A-DAY  VACATION          159 

to  write,  except  when  he's  so  dead  tired  he  can't 
spell  his  own  name. 

There's  so  little  going  on  here  of  interest  to  him 
that  my  letters  to  him  are  few  and  far  between. 
It's  strange  how  absence  makes  people  drift  apart. 
"When  he  was  home  he  was  one  of  the  biggest 
things  in  my  landscape.  If  he  were  here  now  I'd 
find  plenty  of  time  to  boat  and  ride  and  talk  with 
him,  but  now  it's  hard  to  find  a  moment  for  even 
a  short  note ;  that  is,  when  I'm  in  a  mood  for  writ 
ing  one.  I  surely  do  miss  him,  though.  We've 
spent  so  many  summers  together. 

For  the  few  things  that  happened  between  my 
seventeenth  birthday  and  this  last  day  of  August, 
see  my  "Book  of  Second  Chronicles."  Barby  was 
so  interested  in  reading  my  Harrington  Hall  rec 
ord,  and  so  very  complimentary,  that  I  have  been 
writing  in  it  this  summer,  to  the  neglect  of  this  old 
blank  book.  But  I'm  going  to  put  it  in  the  bottom 
of  my  trunk  and  take  it  back  to  school  with  me. 

Babe  is  back  home.  She  had  a  chance  to  investi 
gate  the  brass  balls  of  that  bedstead  in  the  "White 
Mountains.  She  did  it  in  fear  and  trembling,  for 
it  was  in  her  Aunt  Mattie's  room,  and  she  was 
afraid  she  'd  walk  in  any  minute  and  ask  what  she 
was  doing.  The  balls  were  empty.  So  she's  still 
wondering  where  in  the  Salvation  Army  those  let- 


160       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

ters  can  be.  We  are  going  back  to  Washington 
together  next  week.  To  think  of  our  being  Sen 
iors  !  Father  is  going  to  be  pleased  when  he  gets 
Mr.  Carver's  report  of  me.  I  never  had  a  vaca 
tion  fly  by  so  fast. 


PAET  n 


'True  to  One's  Orbit  and  the  Service  of  Shining. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   CALL  TO  ARMS 

IT  has  come  at  last — the  call  to  arms — the  big 
gest  thing  that  may  ever  be  my  lot  to  record  in  all 
my  life,  or  the  life  of  my  country.  So  I  have 
hunted  up  this  old  book  of  Memoirs  that  I  have 
not  written  in  for  months,  in  order  that  I  may  put 
down  the  date. 

April  6,  1917.  On  this  day  the  United  States 
declared  war  against  Germany! 

Far  down  the  street  a  band  is  playing,  and  in 
every  direction  flags  are  flying  in  the  warm  April 
breeze.  All  Washington  is  a-flutter  with  banners. 
The  girls  are  so  excited  that  they  can't  talk  of 
anything  else.  Some  of  them  have  been  in  tears 
ever  since  the  announcement  came.  Many  of 
them  have  brothers  in  Yale  or  Princeton  or  Har 
vard  who've  only  been  waiting  for  this  to  break 
away  and  enlist.  Not  that  the  girls  don't  glory  in 
the  fact  that  they've  got  some  one  to  go,  just  as 
I  glory  in  the  thought  that  Father  is  in  the  service. 

163 


164       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

But  we've  been  on  a  fearful  nervous  strain  ever 
since  the  last  of  January,  when  Germany  declared 
she'd  sink  at  sight  all  vessels  found  in  certain 
zones,  and  those  zones  are  the  very  waters  where 
our  ships  are  obliged  to  go. 

Lillian  Locke 's  Uncle  Charlie  went  down  in  one 
of  the  merchant  ships  they  sank  last  month.  He 
was  her  favorite  uncle,  and  most  of  us  girls  knew 
him.  He  came  to  the  school  twice  last  year,  and 
whenever  he  sent  Lillian  "eats"  he  sent  enough 
for  her  to  treat  the  entire  class.  Then  there  is 
Duffield,  and  Bailey  Burrell  and  Watson  Tucker 
all  off  on  the  high  seas  somewhere.  Sometimes  at 
vespers  when  we  sing : 

"0  hear  us  when  we  cry  to  Thee 
For  those  in  peril  on  the  sea," 

the  thought  of  Father  and  of  all  those  boys  who 
danced  with  us  just  a  year  ago,  and  who  went 
marching  so  gaily  across  the  green  mall,  chokes 
me  so  that  I  can't  sing  another  note.  Sometimes 
all  over  the  chapel  voices  waver  and  stop  till  only 
the  organ  is  left  to  finish  it  alone. 

We  Seniors  have  voted  to  cut  out  all  frills  in 
our  Commencement  exercises,  and  give  the  money 
to  the  Bed  Cross.  We're  going  to  wear  simple 
white  shirt-waist  suits.  It'll  make  it  such  a  plain 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS  165 

affair  it  won't  be  worth  while  for  our  families  to 
come  on  to  see  us  get  our  diplomas. 

Barby  is  coming  anyhow,  and  I  know  she  '11  be 
disappointed.  She  has  all  the  old-time  ideas  about 
flowers  and  fluffy  ruffles  for  the  "sweet  girl  grad 
uates.  ' '  She  had  them  herself,  with  so  many  pres 
ents  and  congratulations  that  her  graduation  was 
almost  as  grand  an  occasion  as  her  wedding.  Her 
Aunt  Barbara's  pearl  necklace  which  she  inher 
ited  was  handed  over  to  her  then,  and  I  think  she 
has  visions  of  my  wearing  it  on  the  same  stage, 
on  the  occasion  of  my  Commencement.  There  are 
only  a  few  strands  in  the  necklace  and  the  pearls 
are  quite  small,  though  exquisitely  beautiful,  but, 
of  course,  I  couldn't  wear  it  with  just  a  plain  shirt 
waist. 

Easter  has  come  and  gone,  and  nothing  of  im 
portance  has  happened  here  at  school,  but  a  letter 
from  Barby  brings  news  of  happenings  at  home 
which  have  a  place  in  this  record,  so  I  am  copying 
it. 

"What  a  cold  and  snowy  Spring  this  has  been! 
All  week  we  have  had  to  pile  on  the  wood  as  we 
do  in  midwinter.  I  am  glad  that  you  are  away 
from  this  bleak  tongue  of  sand,  far  enough  inland 
and  far  enough  South  to  escape  these  cold  winds 
from  the  Atlantic,  and  to  have  Spring  buds 


166       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

and    Spring    bird-calls    in    the    school    garden. 

"Yesterday,  just  before  supper,  while  I  sat  knit 
ting  in  the  firelight,  the  front  doorbell  rang.  Not 
hearing  Tippy  go  out  into  the  hall,  I  started  to 
answer  it.  You  know  how  she  opens  a  door  by 
degrees,  one  cautious  inch  and  then  another — 
well,  I  was  just  in  time  to  see  a  big  man  in  a  fur 
cap  and  burly  overcoat  shoulder  his  way  in  and 
throw  his  arms  around  her  in  a  hearty  embrace. 
I  couldn't  see  his  face  in  the  dusk,  nor  did  I  recog 
nize  the  deep  voice  that  cried  out — 'Ah,  Tippy! 
But  you  look  good  to  me ! 9 

"The  next  instant  I  was  caught  up  in  a  great 
bear  hug  by  those  same  strong  arms.  It  was  Eich- 
ard,  home  again  after  two  long  years,  and  so  glad 
to  be  back  that  it  was  a  joy  to  see  his  delight.  He 
•had  come  home  to  enlist. 

"You  can  easily  picture  for  yourself  the  scene 
at  the  table  a  little  while  later.  He  teased  and 
flattered  Tippy  till  she  was  almost  beside  herself. 
She  kept  getting  up  to  open  some  new  jar  of  pickle 
or  preserves,  or  to  bring  on  something  else  from 
the  pantry  which  she  remembered  he  had  an  espe 
cial  liking  for.  Afterwards  he  insisted  on  tying 
one  of  her  aprons  around  him  and  wiping  the 
dishes  for  her.  He  kept  her  quivering  with  con 
cern  as  usual  for  the  safety  of  the  cups  and  sau 
cers,  when  he  tried  his  old  juggling  tricks  of 


THE  CALL  TO  ARMS 167 

keeping   several  in   the   air   at   the   same   time. 

4 'But  later,  when  we  were  alone,  he  dropped  all 
his  gay  foolery  and  sat  down  on  the  hearthrug  at 
my  feet,  as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  little  lad, 
and,  leaning  his  head  against  my  knee,  looked  into 
the  fire. 

"  'You're  all  I've  got  now,  Barby,'  he  said,  and 
took  my  knitting  away  that  my  hand  might  be  free 
to  stray  over  his  forehead  as  it  used  to  do  when 
he  came  to  me  for  sympathy  and  comfort.  After 
a  moment  he  began  talking  about  his  father.  It 
was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  him,  you  know,  since 
Mr.  Moreland  was  killed. 

"Then  he  told  me  how  circumstances  had  made 
it  possible  for  him  to  come  back  to  the  States  to 
enlist,  as  soon  as  war  was  declared.  He  is  no 
longer  bound  by  his  promise  to  the  Canadian 
whose  family  he  was  caring  for.  The  man  was 
sent  back  home  two  months  ago,  dismissed  from 
a  hospital  in  France.  He  was  wounded  twice  so 
badly  that  one  leg  had  to  be  amputated.  But 
though  he  came  home  on  crutches  he  came  back 
with  something  which  he  values  more  than  his 
leg — the  Victoria  Cross.  He  won  it  in  an  awful 
battle,  one  in  which  nearly  his  whole  regiment  was 
wiped  out. 

"  Richard  sprang  up  from  the  rug  and  paced  the 
floor  as  he  talked  about  it.  His  face  glowed  so 


168       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

that  I  couldn't  help  asking,  'But  how  did  you  feel 
when  you  saw  him  with  the  cross  that  might  have 
been  yours  had  you  gone  in  his  stead!' 

"He  stood  a  moment  with  one  elbow  resting  on 
the  mantel,  looking  down  into  the  fire.  Then  he 
said  slowly,  <Well,  it  would  have  been  ripping,  of 
course,  to  have  had  it  one 's  self — worth  dying  for 
in  fact;  but  after  all,  you  know,  little  Mother,  it 
isn't  the  "guerdon"  any  of  us  are  after  in  this 
war.  It's  just  that  the  deed  gets  done.  I  believe 
that  is  the  spirit  in  which  all  America  is  going 
into  it.  Not  for  any  gain — not  for  any  glory — 
she's  simply  saying  to  herself  and  to  the  world, 
"For  the  deed's  sake  will  I  do  this."  ' 

"As  he  said  that,  he  looked  so  like  his  father  in 
one  of  his  inspired  moods,  that  I  realized  the  two 
years  in  which  he  has  been  away  has  made  a  man 
of  him.  It  was  only  that  he  was  so  boyishly  glad 
to  be  at  home  again  that  I  hadn't  noticed  before 
how  earnest  and  mature  he  had  grown  to  be. 

"Within  a  month  after  the  Canadian's  return, 
he  was  able  to  take  a  place  in  the  factory.  His 
artificial  limb  made  it  possible.  Richard  went  at 
once  to  an  aviation  field  to  complete  his  training. 
He  intended  to  go  from  there  to  join  a  flying 
squadron  in  France,  for  his  Cousin  James  is  ready 
now  to  do  anything  for  him  he  asks.  But  just  as 
he  was  about  to  start,  the  United  States  declared 


THE  CALL  TO  AEMS 169 

war,  and  he  hurried  home  to  enlist  under  his  own 
flag.  He  has  been  promised  a  commission  and  an 
opportunity  to  go  soon  in  some  special  capacity, 
for  he  passed  all  the  tests  in  expert  flying.  He 
will  probably  be  kept  at  Newport  News  while 
he  is  waiting  for  some  bit  of  red  tape  to  be 
untied. 

"He  did  not  stay  late,  for  there  were  some  busi 
ness  matters  he  had  to  discuss  with  Mr.  Milford, 
and  he  left  town  early  this  morning.  Several 
times  while  here,  he  glanced  around  saying, 
'Somehow  I  keep  expecting  Georgina  to  pop  in 
every  time  the  door  opens.  It  doesn't  seem  like 
home  without  her  here  to  keep  things  stirred  up. ' 

"He  asked  many  questions  about  you  and  said 
that  he  hopes  mightily  to  see  you  before  he  sails. 
I  told  him  that  was  highly  improbable  as  Com 
mencement  is  to  be  so  late  this  year  owing  to  the 
enforced  vacation  in  January  when  over  half  the 
school  was  in  quarantine  on  account  of  mumps  and 
measles.  That  was  the  first  he  had  heard  of  it, 
and  he  said  to  congratulate  you  for  him  on  your 
lucky  escape." 

I  am  glad  that  Barby  wrote  in  detail  as  she  did, 
for  I  have  not  had  a  line  from  Kichard  in  three 
months.  Evidently  he  did  not  get  my  last  letter, 
for  in  that  I  told  him  all  about  that  quarantine, 
and  the  fun  we  girls  had  who  escaped  the  con- 


170       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

tagion,  but  who  were  kept  in  durance  vile  on  ac 
count  of  the  others. 

I  wish  I  had  been  at  home  when  he  surprised 
them.  I  wish  I  were  a  boy  and  could  do  what  he 
is  doing.  It  would  be  simply  glorious  to  go  wing 
ing  one's  way  into  battle  as  he  will  do.  It's  one 
thing  to  give  your  life  for  your  country  in  one  ex 
alted  moment  of  renunciation,  and  quite  another 
to  give  it  in  little  dribs  of  insignificant  sacrifices 
and  petty  duties,  the  way  we  stay-at-home  girls 
have  to  do.  It  is  maddening  to  have  the  soul  of 
an ' '  Ace ' '  who  would  dare  any  flight  or  of  a  "  Sam- 
mie ' '  who  would  endure  any  trench,  and  then  have 
nothing  but  a  pair  of  knitting  needles  handed  out 
to  you. 

Another  letter  from  Barby  this  week.  Of 
course  I  knew  the  war  would  come  close  home  in 
many  ways,  but  I  hadn't  expected  it  would  get  that 
little  mother-o  '-mine  first  thing.  This  is  what  she 
writes : 

''It  is  quite  possible  that  I  may  be  in  Washing 
ton  by  the  last  of  May.  Mrs.  Waldon  has  written, 
begging  me  to  come  and  stay  with  her  while  Cath 
erine  goes  back  to  Kentucky  for  a  visit.  She 
writes  that  she  is  'up  to  her  ears'  in  the  Army  and 
Navy  League  work,  and  that  is  where  I  belong. 
She  says  I  should  be  there  getting  inspiration  for 


THE  CALL  TO  AEMS 171 

all  this  end  of  the  state,  and  lending  a  hand  in  the 
grand  drive  they  are  planning  for.  Her  letter  is 
such  a  veritable  call  to  arms  that  I  feel  that  I'll 
be  shirking  my  duty  if  I  don't  go.  Tippy  says 
there  is  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  go.  She  can 
get  Miss  Susan  Triplett  to  come  up  from  Well- 
fleet  to  stay  with  her  till  you  come  home. 

"Her  patriotic  old  soul  is  fired  with  joy  at  no 
longer  being  under  the  ban  of  a  'neutral'  silence. 
When  it  comes  to  her  powers  of  speech,  Tippy  on 
the  war-path  is  a  wonder.  I  wish  the  Kaiser  could 
hear  her  when  she  is  once  thoroughly  warmed  up 
on  the  subject.  She'd  be  in  the  first  soup-kitchen 
outfit  that  leaves  for  the  front  if  it  wasn't  for  her 
rheumatism.  As  it  is,  she  is  making  the  best  self- 
appointed  recruiting  officer  on  the  whole  Cape. 

"I  have  written  to  your  father,  asking  him  if  he 
can  find  me  a  place  where  I  can  be  useful  on  one 
of  the  hospital  ships;  I  can't  nurse,  but  there 
ought  to  be  many  things  I  can  do  if  it's  nothing 
more  than  scrubbing  the  operating  rooms  and 
sterilizing  instruments.  And  maybe  in  that  way 
I  could  see  him  occasionally.  Of  course  it  isn't 
as  if  he  were  stationed  on  one  particular  ship.  I 
believe  he  could  manage  it  then,  but  being  needed 
in  many  places  and  constantly  moving  he  may  not 
want  me  to  go.  In  that  case  I  shall  join  Mrs.  Wai- 
don.  She  says  she  can  put  me  into  a  place  where 


172       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

every  hour 's  work  will  count  for  something  worth 
while." 

It  made  the  tears  come  to  my  eyes  when  I  read 
that.  Little  Barby,  out  in  the  world  doing  things 
for  her  country !  Since  I  have  grown  to  be  half  a 
head  taller  than  she,  and  especially  since  my  office 
training  last  summer  and  Father's  leaving  her  in 
my  care,  I've  been  thinking  of  her  as  little  Barby. 
She's  never  done  anything  in  public  but  read  her 
graduating  essay.  The  tables  are  turned  now.  It 
is  she  who  is  going  out  on  a  stony  road  in  her 
little  bare  feet,  and  she 's  never  been  shod  for  such 
going.  But  she's  got  the  spirit  of  the  old  Virginia 
Cavaliers,  even  if  she  didn't  inherit  a  Pilgrim- 
father  backbone  as  the  Huntingdons  did.  She'll 
never  stop  for  the  stones,  and  she'll  get  to  any 
place  she  starts  out  to  reach.  I'm  as  proud  of 
her  as  I  am  of  Father.  I've  simply  got  to  do 
something  myself,  as  soon  as  school  is  out. 


CHAPTER  XV 


'THE  GATES  AJAR" 


COMMENCEMENT  is  over,  the  good-byes  are  said 
and  most  of  the  girls  have  departed  for  home. 
Babe  and  I  leave  this  morning  at  ten  o  'clock  when 
Mrs.  Waldon's  machine  is  to  come  for  us  and  take 
us  to  her  apartment  for  a  week's  visit.  Babe  is 
included  in  the  invitation  because  she  can't  go 
home  till  I  do.  Her  family  won't  let  her  travel 
alone,  although  she's  nineteen,  a  year  and  a  month 
older  than  L 

Father  wasn't  willing  for  Barby  to  leave  this 
country,  so  she  went  into  the  Army  and  Navy 
League  work  with  Mrs.  Waldon,  the  first  month 
she  was  here.  But  now  she's  at  the  head  of  one 
of  the  departmentc  in  the  Eed  Cross  and  will  be 
in  Washington  all  summer,  and  longer  if  neces 
sary.  I've  finished  my  Book  of  Second  Chronicles 
and  shall  leave  it  for  Ler  to  read  whenever  she  can 
find  an  opportunity.  But  I'm  keeping  my  Mem 
oirs  out  of  my  trunk  till  the  last  moment,  because 
there's  something  I  want  to  write  in  it  about 
Babe, 

173 


174       GEORGINA'S  SEBVICE  STARS 

It  was  agreed  that  nobody  was  to  wear  flowers 
at  Commencement,  and  we  asked  our  families  not 
to  send  any,  so  it  was  generally  understood  that 
there  was  to  be  no  display  of  any  kind.  But  yes 
terday  an  enormous  florist  box  arrived  for  Babe 
Nolan.  If  she  hadn't  been  so  mysterious  about  it 
we  wouldn't  have  thought  anything  of  it.  Any  one 
of  us  would  have  opened  it  right  then  and  there 
in  the  hall,  and  passed  it  around  to  be  sniffed  and 
admired.  But  she  got  as  red  as  fire  and,  grabbing 
the  box,  hurried  into  her  room  with  it  and  shut 
the  door.  That's  the  last  anybody  saw  of  it.  A 
little  later  when  I  had  occasion  to  go  to  her  room 
there  wasn't  a  sign  of  a  flower  to  be  seen,  not 
even  the  box  or  a  piece  of  string.  The  girls  all 
thought  it  was  queer  they  should  disappear  so  ab 
solutely,  and  wondered  why  she  didn't  put  them 
in  the  dining-room  or  the  chapel  if  she  didn't 
want  them  in  her  own  room,  and  they  teased  her 
a  good  deal  about  her  mysterious  suitor. 

But  last  night,  after  Lillian  and  Jessica  had 
started  to  the  train,  she  called  me  to  her  room  and 
threw  open  the  wardrobe  door  with  a  tragic  ges 
ture,  and  asked  me  what  on  earth  she  was  to  do 
with  that.  Her  trunk  wouldn  't  hold  another  thing, 
and  she  supposed  she  'd  have  to  go  all  the  way  to 
the  Cape  with  it  in  her  two  hands,  and  it  smelled 
so  loud  of  tuberoses  and  such  things  she  was 


1  'THE  GATES  AJAR"  175 

afraid  people  would  think  she  was  taking  it  to  a 
funeral. 

There  on  the  wardrobe  flood  stood  a  floral  design 
fully  three  feet  high,  that  looked  exactly  as  if  in 
tended  for  a  funeral,  for  it  was  one  of  those  pieces 
called  ' '  Gates  Ajar. ' '  I  didn 't  dare  laugh  because 
Babe  stood  there  looking  so  worried  and  so  deeply 
in  earnest  that  I  knew  she  Jd  be  offended  if  I  did. 
I  suggested  simply  leaving  it  behind,  or  taking  out 
the  flowers  and  chucking  the  wire  frame  into  the 
ash  can.  Then  I  saw  my  advice  was  unacceptable. 
Evidently  she  hadn't  told  me  all,  and  didn't  in 
tend  to  for  fear  I'd  laugh  at  the  person  who  sent 
such  a  design. 

But  when  I  said  in  a  real  sympathetic  and  un 
derstanding  way  that  it  was  50  appropriate  for  a 
Commencement  offering  because  everybody  thinks 
of  Commencement  Day  as  being  a  gate  ajar, 
through  which  a  school  girl  steps  into  the  wider 
life  beyond,  she  gave  me  a  sharp  glance  and  then 
took  me  into  her  confidence.  She  had  on  one  of 
those  new  sport  skirts  with  two  enormous  side 
pockets,  the  most  stylish  thing  I  ever  saw  Babe 
wear.  She  drew  a  card  out  of  one  of  the  pock 
ets.  On  it  was  engraved,  "Lieutenant  Watson 
Tucker." 

I  nearly  dropped  with  surprise,  for  two  reasons. 
First,  I  didn't  think  he  was  the  sort  of  a  man  to 


176       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

send  such  a  queer  thing.  It  would  have  been  more 
like  him  to  have  sent  a  bunch  of  sweet  peas.  And 
second,  I  didn't  know  he  had  kept  up  with  Babe 
enough  to  know  the  date  of  her  graduation. 

She  said  yes,  they  correspond  occasionally,  and 
in  his  last  letter  he  said  he  was  expecting  to  have 
a  two-weeks'  shore  leave  soon.  She  wouldn't  be 
surprised  any  day  to  hear  that  the  ship  was  in. 
Although  she  said  it  airily,  I  know  Babe.  She 
couldn't  fool  me.  She  over-acted  her  indiffer 
ence,  and  when  she  said  she  supposed  she  might 
as  well  box  up  the  flowers  and  take  them  along 
when  the  machine  came,  I  knew  positively  that 
she  cared  far  more  for  Watty  Tucker  than  she  'd 
have  me  know. 

Babe  says  it's  like  visiting  in  the  Hall  of  Fame 
to  be  here  at  Mrs.  Waldon's.  Every  way  we  turn 
are  autographed  pictures  on  the  walls  of  celebri 
ties  who  have  helped  to  make  history.  Every  time 
the  door  bell  rings  it  is  a  call  from  somebody  who 
is  helping  to  make  it  now.  And  they're  not  Ad 
mirals  and  Generals  and  diplomats  and  their 
wives  to  Mrs.  Waldon.  They're  just  Joe  and  Ned 
and  Nancy  who  took  "pot  luck"  with  her  in  the 
old  army  days  on  the  frontier  before  they  got  to 
be  famous  or  else  somebody  wJiQ  knew,  her  inti 
mately  in  the  Philippines. 


"THE  GATES  AJAR" 177 

It  is  so  thrilling  to  meet  them  and  so  interesting 
to  hear  intimate  bits  of  their  family  history  after 
ward.  People  she  hasn't  heard  of  in  years  are 
constantly  turning  up,  brought  to  Washington  by 
the  war.  Only  this  morning,  a  Major  whom  she 
thought  was  out  among  the  " head-hunters" 
dropped  in  and  stayed  to  lunch. 

We  have  spent  the  greater  part  of  every  day 
sight-seeing.  Not  the  usual  places  like  Mount 
Vernon  and  the  Smithsonian,  etc.  WeVe  been 
doing  them  for  the  last  two  years  in  school  ex 
cursions  with  the  teachers.  But  places  that  have 
taken  on  unusual  interest  because  of  these  stir 
ring  war  times.  We  went  over  to  Fort  Meyer  in 
time  for  "Betreat"  one  afternoon,  and  again  to 
see  the  trench-digging  and  the  dummies  being  put 
up  for  bayonet  practice.  And  we  spent  hours  at 
the  Wadsworth  House,  a  palace  of  a  home  which 
has  been  turned  over  to  relief  work.  There  is 
where  Barby  spends  most  of  her  time.  I  was  so 
thrilled  when  I  found  her  there  at  a  desk,  direct 
ing  things  in  her  department,  and  looking  so  lovely 
in  her  uniform,  white  with  a  band  around  her 
sleeve,  and  a  blue  veil  floating  over  her  shoulders, 
bound  on  the  forehead  by  a  white  band  and  a  red 
cross. 

Two  retired  Admirals  in  their  shirt  sleeves  were 
filling  huge  packing  boxes  in  one  of  the  side  rooms. 


178       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

They  give  their  services,  working  like  Trojans  all 
day  long.  Upstairs  in  the  great  dismantled  ball 
room,  and  the  apartments  adjoining,  were  long 
tables  surrounded  by  the  women  working  on  surgi 
cal  dressings  and  hospital  garments  and  comfort 
kits.  Downstairs,  near  the  entrance,  was  the  desk 
of  the  Motor  Service  Corps.  A  pretty  society  girl 
in  a  stunning  uniform  came  in  while  we  stood 
there,  saluted  her  superior  officer,  received  her 
orders  and  started  out  to  drive  her  machine  on 
some  Red  Cross  errand,  with  all  the  neatness  and 
dispatch  of  a  regular  enlisted  soldier.  That's 
what  I  'd  love  to  do,  if  I  only  had  a  machine  of  my 
own.  She  looked  too  adorable  for  words  In  that 
uniform. 

One  afternoon  we  went  out  to  see  the  President 
receive  the  Sanitary  Corps  of  a  thousand  men 
trained  to  carry  litters.  A  temporary  platform 
gay  with  bunting  and  flags  was  erected  on  the  edge 
of  the  green  where  the  President  and  his  guests 
of  honor  sat.  Barby  was  one  of  them  in  her  float 
ing  blue  veil,  on  account  of  the  position  she  holds 
now.  "We  parked  the  machine  and  sat  down  tailor- 
fashion  on  the  grass  in  the  front  row  of  the 
crowd,  which  pressed  against  the  rope  that  barred 
our  entrance  to  the  mall. 

After  awhile  there  was  a  sound  of  music  down 
the  street,  and  the  marine  band  came  marching 


' '  THE  GATES  AJAE ' '  179 

across  the  great  field  towards  us,  at  the  head  of 
the  litter-bearers.  It  was  a  sunny  afternoon,  and 
the  band  played  a  gay  marching  tune  as  they  ad 
vanced.  I  was  feeling  so  uplifted  over  Barby's 
being  on  the  grandstand  among  the  honor  guests, 
looking  her  prettiest,  that  I  didn't  realize  the  sig 
nificance  of  the  scene  at  first.  Then  the  thought 
stabbed  me  like  a  knife,  that  on  every  one  of  those 
litters  somebody's  best  beloved  might  some  day 
be  stretched,  desperately  wounded  maybe,  dead 
or  dying.  I  couldn't  help  thinking  "suppose  I 
should  see  Father  brought  in  that  way,  or  Rich 
ard."  When  I  glanced  across  at  Babe  the  tears 
were  running  down  her  cheeks,  so  it  evidently  af 
fected  her  the  same  way. 

I'd  have  been  willing  to  wager  she  was  seeing 
Watson  on  one  of  those  stretchers.  When  we  got 
back  to  our  room,  which  is  a  large  one  with  twin 
beds  in  it,  she  dived  under  hers  and  pulled  out  the 
big  florist's  box  and  carried  it  to  the  bathroom  to 
sprinkle  the  flowers.  It's  wonderful  how  fresh 
the  thing  has  kept.  She's  had  it  nearly  a  week. 
She  treats  it  like  a  mother  would  an  idiot  child, 
keeps  it  out  of  sight  of  the  public,  but  hangs  over 
it  when  alone  with  a  tenderness  that  is  positively 
touching. 

Babe's  the  funniest  thing!  Every  time  the  hall 
door  opens  she  is  out  and  up  the  little  stairway 


180       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

to  the  roof,  like  a  cat.  It  is  a  nice  place  to  go,  for 
there  is  a  magnificent  view  of  the  city  from  there, 
and  at  night  it's  entrancing,  with  the  Monument 
illuminated,  and  the  great  dome  showing  up  when 
the  searchlights  play.  But  I  don't  believe  it's 
the  view  Babe  is  after.  She  wants  to  be  alone. 
Twice  when  I  went  up  after  her  to  tell  her  it  was 
time  to  start  somewhere,  I  found  her  sitting  star 
ing  at  a  rubber  plant  in  front  of  her,  as  if  she 
didn't  see  even  that.  And  once  she  was  leaning 
against  the  iron  railing  wrhich  surrounds  the  roof, 
oblivious  to  the  fact  that  that  section  of  it  was 
rusty.  It  simply  ruined  her  best  evening  dress,  a 
delicate  blue  veiling  made  over  white  silk.  When 
we  got  downstairs  to  the  light  there  were  great 
streaks  of  iron  rust  across  the  whole  front,  where 
the  bars  had  pressed  against  it. 

Saturday  night  Mrs.  Waldon  had  a  long-dis 
tance  call  from  her  cousin,  Mac  Gordon.  His  ship 
was  in  from  the  long  cruise,  and  the  boys  were 
scattering  to  their  homes  for  a  short  visit  before 
being  sent  to  join  the  fleet  abroad.  He  wanted  to 
know  if  he  could  stop  by  next  day  to  see  her,  on  his 
way  home.  She  told  him  to  come  and  welcome, 
and  bring  any  of  the  other  boys  who  cared  to 
come.  That  Babe  and  I  were  with  her. 

Well,  Sunday  afternoon  when  Mac  walked  in 
there  was  a  whole  string  of  boys  behind  him;  Bob 


"THE  GATES  AJAR" 181 

Mayfield  and  Billy  Burrell  and  Watty  Tucker. 
Only  four  in  all  by  actual  count,  but  added  to  the 
six  already  in  the  room,  the  little  apartment 
seemed  brim  full  and  running  over.  Two  of  her 
old  army  cronies  were  there  besides  Barby. 

I  wondered  what  Mrs.  Waldon  was  going  to  do 
about  feeding  them  all,  because  the  cook  is  always 
away  on  Sunday  night.  But  when  the  time  came 
she  simply  announced  they'd  serve  supper  in  the 
time-honored  Crabtown  fashion.  At  that  the  men 
all  got  up  and  crowded  out  into  the  little  kitchen 
ette  to  see  what  she  had  on  her  "emergency  shelf* 
and  to  announce  what  part  each  one  would  be  re 
sponsible  for  on  the  menu. 

When  we  were  ready  to  sit  down  to  the  table 
we  noticed  that  Babe  and  Watson  were  missing, 
and  when  I  tried  to  recall  when  I  had  seen  them 
last,  I  was  sure  they  had  slipped  away  during  the 
general  exodus  to  the  kitchen.  And  I  am  sure  that 
when  I  ran  up  the  steps  to  the  roof  garden  with 
the  announcement, " The  rarebit  is  ready,"  neither 
one  of  them  was  a  bit  grateful  to  me. 

I  was  sorry  Duffield  Locke  wasn't  with  the  boys. 
His  family  met  him  in  New  York  and  they  went 
on  to  New  York  together.  Bob  Mayfield  tried  to 
tease  me  about  him.  He  said  Duff  had  my  picture 
in  the  back  of  his  watch.  When  I  hotly  denied  it, 
and  vowed  I  had  never  given  him  one,  except  a 


182       GEOKGINA'S  SEEVICE  STABS) 

little  snapshot  taken  with  Lillian  of  just  onr  heads, 
he  said,  ''Well,  Duff  had  a  pair  of  scissors." 

After  we  went  to  our  room  that  night,  late  as 
it  was,  Babe  re-packed  her  trunk  and  deliberately 
squeezed  all  her  hats  into  one  compartment, 
thereby  ruining  two  of  them  for  life,  to  make  room 
in  the  tray  for  that  florist  box.  The  flowers  were 
badly  shriveled  up  by  that  time.  Seeing  from  my 
face  that  an  explanation  was  necessary,  she  said 
she  couldn't  carry  it  back  on  the  train  as  she  had 
intended,  because  "Watson  was  going  up  to  Prov- 
incetown  the  same  time  we  were,  to  visit  his  cous 
ins,  the  Nelsons,  and  she  didn't  want  him  to  see  it. 

"But  the  Nelsons  aren't  in  Provincetown  this 
summer, ' '  I  answered.  '  *  And  he  knows  it,  because 
I  told  him  what  Laura  said  in  her  last  letter.  Be 
sides,  why  shouldn't  he  see  his  own  floral  offering? 
He'd  be  complimented  to  think  you  cared  enough 
for  it  to  lug  it  all  the  way  home." 

She  seemed  a  bit  confused  at  my  answer,  but  I 
couldn't  tell  at  which  part  of  it.  Then  she  said 
that  he  didn't  pick  it  out.  He  thinks  he  sent  roses, 
and  he'd  have  a  fit  if  he  knew  it  was  that  awful 
Gates  Ajar.  He  sent  his  card  to  some  old  rela 
tive  in  Georgetown  with  a  check  and  asked  him 
to  order  something  appropriate  for  the  occasion. 

I  asked  Babe  then,  why,  if  the  design  wasn't 
Watty's  choice,  and  she  thought  it  was  so  dread- 


183 


ful,  ivliy  did  she  cling  to  it  so  fondly,  and  take  it 
back  to  the  Cape  at  the  risk  of  all  her  hats  and  the 
sure  ruin  of  two  of  them.  But  she  paid  no  atten 
tion  to  my  remark,  just  went  on  with  her  packing. 
I  know  she's  relieved  to  find  out  it  wasn't  Wat 
ty's  taste.  If  they  are  not  actually  engaged,  they 
have  almost  reached  the  gate,  and  it  is  ajar. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

HOME-COMINGS 

I  MIGHT  as  well  Have  traveled  alone,  for  all  the 
company  Babe  and  Watson  proved  to  be.  They 
were  so  absorbed  in  their  conversation  with  each 
other  that  they  never  once  glanced  ont  of  the  win 
dow,  even  when  we  were  going  along  the  Capo 
where  one  is  apt  to  see  a  familiar  face  every  time 
the  train  stops. 

I  was  so  glad  to  get  back  to  familiar  scenes  like 
cranberry  bogs  and  dunes  and  marshes,  with  the 
pools  of  water  shining  in  them  like  mirrors,  that 
I  kept  exclaiming,  "Oh,  look!"  I  said  it  several 
times  before  I  realized  that  the  landscape  had  no 
attractions  for  them.  Neither  had  the  stuffy  car 
any  discomforts,  although  the  hot  July  sunshine 
streamed  in  across  the  red  velvet  upholstery. 

With  their  chairs  swung  facing  each  other,  they 
sat  and  talked  like  two  Eobinson  Crusoes  who  had 
just  found  each  other  after  aeons  of  solitude  on 
separate  islands.  For  a  while  I  watched  them 

184 


HOME-COMINGS 185 

over  the  top  of  my  magazine;  Watson  mopping 
his  shiny  red  face  with  his  handkerchief,  and  Babe 
with  her  hat  tilted  crooked  over  one  eye  and  a 
little  wisp  of  hair  straggling  over  her  neck,  and 
her  collar  all  rumpled  np  behind.  I  kept  wonder 
ing  what  on  earth  was  the  attraction  that  each  had 
for  the  other.  One  can  understand  it  when  the 
heroine  is  beautiful  and  the  hero  fascinating,  but 
how  two  such  plain,  average  people  as  Babe  Nolan 
and  Watson  Tucker  can  inspire  the  grand  passion 
is  a  puzzle. 

I  couldn't  help  smiling  to  myself  when  I  looked 
back  on  the  time  when  I  had  once  imagined  Wat 
son  to  be  the  most  congenial  man  I  ever  met.  I 
was  heartily  glad  that  our  acquaintance  had  been 
interrupted  at  that  point,  until  I  grew  older  and 
wiser.  Suppose  I  had  gone  on  looking  at  him 
through  the  prism  of  my  ideals  until  I  actually  be 
lieved  that  the  halo  which  my  imagination  put 
around  him  was  a  real  one !  What  a  little  fool  a 
girl  of  fifteen  can  be !  It  seems  to  me  I  have  aged 
more  in  this  last  year  at  school,  than  in  all  the 
years  that  went  before  it  put  together.  Only  a 
few  more  days  until  I  can  count  myself  actually 
grown  up — till  I  have  reached  that  magic  mile 
stone,  my  eighteenth  birthday ! 

Growing  up  is  like  the  dawning  of  Spring.  For 
a  long  time  there  are  just  a  few  twitters,  a  hint 


186       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

of  buds  in  the  hedgerows.  Then,  suddenly  as  an 
April  shower,  a  mist  of  green  drops  down  over 
the  bare  branches  like  a  delicate  veil,  and  one 
awakens  to  a  world  of  bloom  and  birdsong  and  ro 
mance. 

(That's  a  good  paragraph  to  start  a  story  with. 
I'll  put  an  asterisk  on  the  margin  to  mark  it.) 

I  had  expected  to  awaken  to  my  Springtime  and 
romance  this  very  summer — to  find  it  perhaps,  in 
Kentucky.  Barby  and  I  have  planned  for  years 
that  my  eighteenth  birthday  should  be  spent  there. 
The  very  word,  Kentucky,  suggests  romance  to 
me.  But  now  that  the  war  has  upset  everyone's 
plans,  I'll  have  to  give  it  up.  And  Romance  is 
not  likely  to  come  riding  by  to  such  a  gray  old 
fishing  port  as  Provincetown. 

This  is  what  I  told  myself  as  we  went  along  be 
tween  the  cranberry  bogs  and  the  dunes.  But 
suddenly  we  made  a  turn  that  showed  us  the  entire 
end  of  the  Cape.  There,  with  the  sunset  light 
upon  it,  was  the  town,  curving  around  the  harbor 
like  a  golden  dream  city,  rising  above  a  "sea  of 
glass  mingled  with  fire."  Spires  and  towers  and 
chimney  tops,  with  the  great  shaft  of  the  Pilgrims 
high  above  them  all,  stood  transfigured  in  that 
wonderful  shining.  I  took  it  as  an  omen — a  good 
omen  of  all  sorts  of  delightful  and  unexpected 
happenings  that  might  come  to  me. 


HOME-COMINGS  187 

When  we  reached  the  station,  I  had  two  com 
pletely  separate  and  distinct  impulses,  which  made 
me  afraid  that  I  still  lack  considerable  of  being 
grown  up.  The  first  fishy  smell  of  the  harbor 
which  greeted  me,  with  its  tang  of  brine  and  tar, 
gave  me  the  impulse  to  send  my  suitcase  up  to  the 
house  by  the  baggage  man,  and  run  all  the  way 
home.  I  wanted  to  go  skipping  along  the  streets 
as  I  used  to  when  my  skirts  were  knee  high  and 
my  curls  bobbing  over  my  shoulders.  I  wanted  to 
speak  to  everyone  I  met  and  have  everyone  call 
back  at  me,  "Hello,  Georgina,"  in  friendly  village 
fashion.  I  wanted  to  smell  what  was  cooking  for 
supper  in  every  house  I  passed,  and  maybe  if 
the  baker's  cart  came  along  with  its  inviting  step 
in  the  rear,  "hang  on  behind"  for  a  block  or 
two. 

The  second  impulse  was  to  powder  my  nose  a 
trifle,  put  on  a  little  face  veil  and  a  pair  of  per 
fectly  fitting  gloves,  and  then  when  the  panel 
mirror  between  the  car  windows  showed  a  modish 
and  tailor-made  young  lady,  correct  in  every  de 
tail,  step  into  the  bus  and  drive  home  to  make  an 
impression  on  Tippy. 

The  latter  impulse  dominated,  and  I  am  glad  it 
did,  for  Judith  and  George  Woodson  and  several 
others  of  the  old  crowd  were  at  the  station  to  meet 
us.  Babe  hadn't  even  set  her  hat  straight,  but 


188       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

she  didn't  know  it.  Neither  did  Watson.  They 
just  went  along,  smiling  vacuously  (I  guess  that's 
as  good  a  word  as  any,  though  I'm  not  exactly 
sure  of  it)  on  everything  and  everybody. 

It  seemed  so  strange  to  come  home  to  a  house 
with  no  Barby  in  it,  but  it  was  such  a  satisfaction 
to  feel  that  my  arrival  put  Tippy  into  her  little 
company  flutter.  It  was  the  face  veil  which  did 
it,  I  am  sure,  and  the  urban  air  which  I  acquired 
in  Washington.  I  am  taller  than  she,  now,  and  I 
had  to  stoop  a  little  to  kiss  her.  Instead  of  her 
saying,  as  I  expected,  for  me  to  run  along  and 
take  my  things  off,  because  supper  was  getting 
cold,  she  led  the  way  upstairs  to  my  room,  just  as 
if  I'd  been  the  visiting  missionary's  wife,  or  rela 
tives  from  out  of  the  state.  And  she  went  around 
setting  things  straighter,  which  were  already 
straight,  and  asking  if  there  was  anything  I'd 
have  to  make  me  comfortable,  till  I  hardly  knew 
myself,  her  making  such  company  out  of  me. 

Miss  Susan  Triplett  has  been  here  ever  since 
Barby  went  to  Washington,  but  she 's  going  home 
soon,  now  that  I  have  come  back.  Between  them 
I  got  all  the  news  of  the  town  during  supper. 
Aunt  Elspeth  is  very,  very  ill.  They're  afraid 
she  can't  last  long  at  this  rate.  They  have  a 
trained  nurse  for  her  and  Belle  has  to  spend  so 
much  of  her  time  over  there  that  Tippy  has  been 


HOME-COMINGS  189 

taking  care  of  little  Elspeth  and  Judson  in  the 
daytime. 

Titcomb  Carver  and  Sammy  III  have  both  en 
listed,  and  the  two  Fayal  boys,  Manuel  and 
Joseph,  are  in  the  Navy.  Nearly  everyone  I  asked 
about  was  in  some  kind  of  government  service. 
Tippy  says  the  Portuguese  boys  have  responded 
splendidly,  and  she  keeps  tab  on  the  whole  town. 
But  she  said  it  is  a  tragedy  about  George  Wood- 
son.  He's  tried  four  times  to  enlist,  but  he  can't 
pass  the  physical  examination.  His  sight  is  im 
perfect  and  the  old  trouble  with  his  knee  that  he 
got  from  a  football  accident  in  his  Junior  year 
bars  him  out.  Tippy  never  liked  George.  He  was 
impudent  to  her  one  time,  years  ago.  Kan  his 
tongue  out  at  her  when  she  told  him  to  quit  doing 
something  that  she  thought  he  had  no  business  to 
do,  and  she  never  forgave  him.  But  now  she  re 
spects  him  so  much  for  the  desperate  wray  he  has 
tried  to  get  into  the  service,  and  is  so  sorry  for 
his  disappointment,  that  she  can't  say  nice  enough 
things  about  him. 

It  was  late  when  the  expressman  brought  my 
trunk.  Miss  Susan  had  already  gone  upstairs  and 
was  putting  up  her  front  hair  in  crimping  pins. 
But  Tippy  never  made  any  objections  when  I 
started  to  unpack.  I  simply  can't  get  used  to  be 
ing  treated  with  so  much  deference.  It's  worth 


190       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

growing  up  just  to  have  her  listen  so  respectfully 
to  my  opinions  and  to  know  that  she  feels  that 
my  advice  is  worth  asking  for. 

I  only  unpacked  the  top  tray  to  get  some  things 
Barby  and  I  had  bought  for  her  in  the  Washing 
ton  shops,  and  to  take  out  something  she  was  even 
more  interested  in  than  her  gifts.  It  was  a  little 
silk  service  flag  to  hang  up  in  honor  of  Father. 
She  took  it  in  her  hands  as  if  it  were  sacred.  I 
never  saw  her  so  moved  to  admiration  over  any 
thing,  as  she  was  over  that  little  blue  star  in  its 
field  of  wThite  with  the  red  border  around  it. 

Her  voice  didn't  sound  natural,  because  tliere 
was  a  queer  sort  of  choke  in  it  when  she  said: 
"I  never  before  wanted  to  be  a  man.  But  I  do 
now,  just  for  the  chance  to  be  what  that  star 
stands  for. ' ' 

I  had  intended  to  wait  till  morning  before  hang 
ing  it  in  the  front  window,  but  she  had  a  hammer 
and  a  push-pin  out  of  a  box  in  the  hall  closet  before 
I  knew  what  she  was  looking  for,  and  carried  the 
lamp  ahead  of  me  down  the  stairs.  ''Liberty  en 
lightening  the  World,"  I  called  it,  as  she  stood 
holding  the  lamp  up  for  me  to  see,  while  I  drove 
the  push-pin  into  the  window  sash. 

But  she  didn't  laugh  with  me.  It  was  a  solemn 
thing  to  her,  this  placing  of  the  symbol  which 
showed  the  world  that  a  patriot  had  gone  out  from 


HOME-COMINGS  191 

the  house  in  defence  of  his  country.  Although 
she's  a  thin,  gaunt  figure  with  her  hair  twisted 
into  a  hard  little  knot  on  the  back  of  her  head, 
and  there's  nothing  statuesque  about  a  black  silk 
dress  gathered  full  at  the  waist,  and  a  ruffled 
white  apron,  her  waiting  attitude  seemed  to  dig 
nify  the  occasion  and  make  a  ceremony  of  it.  I 
started  to  say  something,  jokingly,  about  firing  a 
salute  with  our  ancestral  musket,  or  singing 
"America,"  but  the  expression  on  her  face 
stopped  me.  The  spirit  of  some  old  Revolutionary 
forbear  seemed  shining  in  her  eyes.  I  hadn't 
dreamed  that  Patriotism  meant  that  to  Tippy; 
something  exalted  enough  to  transform  her 
homely  old  features  with  a  kind  of  inner  shining. 

Something  wakened  me  very  early  next  morn 
ing,  soon  after  daybreak.  Sitting  up  to  look  out 
of  the  window  nearest  my  bed,  I  saw  somebody 
hoeing  in  the  garden.  A  Portuguese  woman  I 
supposed,  who  was  taking  the  place  of  the  regular 
gardener.  Ever  since  old  Jeremy  Clapp  reached 
his  nineties,  we  Ve  had  his  nephew,  young  Jeremy. 
But  they  told  me  the  night  before,  that  he 's  gone 
to  be  a  surfman  in  the  U.  S.  Coast  patrol.  It  was 
especially  hard  to  give  him  up  as  the  war  garden 
he  had  just  put  in  was  twice  the  size  we  usually 
have. 

Then  I  recognized  the  flapping  old  sport  hat 


192       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

which  the  woman  wore.  It  was  one  which  I  dis 
carded  last  year.  Underneath  it,  her  skirts  tucked 
up  to  her  shoe-tops  to  avoid  the  heavy  dew,  was 
Tippy,  hoeing  weeds  as  if  she  were  making  a  per 
sonal  attack  on  the  Hindenburg  line  and  intended 
demolishing  it  before  breakfast. 

Funny  as  she  looked  in  her  scare-crow  working 
outfit,  there  was  something  in  the  sight  that  made 
me  want  to  stand  and  salute.  It  gave  me  the  kind 
of  thrill  one  has  when  the  troops  march  by,  and 
everyone  cheers  as  the  colors  pass.  I  can't  put 
it  into  words,  but  it  was  the  feeling  that  brusque, 
rheumatic  old  Tippy  with  her  hoe,  stood  for  as 
fine  a  kind  of  patriotism  as  there  is  in  the  world. 
She 's  just  as  eager  to  do  some  splendid,  big,  thrill 
ing  thing  for  her  country  as  any  man  in  khaki,  yet 
all  she  can  do  is  to  whack  weeds.  I  wish  I  were 
artist  enough  to  make  a  companion  piece  for  the 
poster  I  brought  home  in  my  trunk — a  goddess  of 
liberty  unfurling  a  star-spangled  banner  across 
the  world.  I'd  make  a  homely  work-roughened 
old  woman  in  her  kitchen  apron,  her  face  shining 
like  Tippy 's  did  last  night,  when  she  looked  at  the 
star  and  wished  she  could  be  the  hero  it  stood 
for. 

I  made  up  my  mind  to  say  something  like  that 
to  her,  something  to  show  her  how  fine  I  think  it 
is  for  a  woman  of  her  age  to  put  in  such  valiant 


HOME-COMINGS  193 

licks  in  a  vegetable  garden  when  greater  things 
are  denied  her.  But  when  I  went  downstairs  and 
found  she  had  changed  from  her  garden  clothes 
into  her  immaculate  gingham  house  dress,  and 
was  stepping  around  in  the  brisk,  capable  way  that 
used  to  make  me  afraid  of  taking  any  liberties 
with  her,  I  couldn't  have  made  such  a  speech  to 
her  any  more  than  I  could  have  made  it  to  the 
refrigerator.  My  first  glance  showed  me  she  had 
lost  her  company  flutter.  I  saw  she  would  soon 
have  me  back  in  my  old  place  of  doing  as  I  was 
bid  and  not  questioning  her  authority,  if  I  did 
not  assert  myself  at  once. 

The  chance  came  while  we  were  at  breakfast. 
A  man  came  with  a  great  lot  of  blueberries  that 
she  had  ordered  last  week.  Not  expecting  them 
so  soon  she  had  promised  Belle  to  spend  most  of 
the  day  in  Fishburn  Court,  because  the  nurse 
wanted  to  get  off  for  a  while.  She  was  dreadfully 
put  out  about  the  berries,  afraid  they  wouldn't 
keep.  She  was  starting  to  carry  them  down  cel- 
ler  when  I  rose  and  took  the  pails  away  from  her, 
and  announced  that  I'd  can  the  whole  lot  of  them, 
myself. 

Goodness  knows  I  didn't  want  to.  I  was  simply 
aching  to  get  down  to  the  beach  and  go  for  a  long 
row,  and  look  in  on  the  neighbors  long  enough  to 
say  howdy  to  everybody.  But  having  once  said 


I'd  do  it  and  been  flatly  refused,  I  simply  had  to 
carry  my  point.  I  grabbed  her  by  the  elbows  in 
a  laughing  sort  of  scuffle  and  sat  her  down  hard 
in  a  chair,  and  told  her  to  stay  put.  To  my  as 
tonishment,  she  gave  right  up,  but  for  a  reason 
that  completely  took  the  wind  out  of  my  sails. 

"Well,"  she  said  thoughtfully,  "I  suppose  you 
do  want  to  do  your  bit  for  Uncle  Sam.  It 's  about 
all  a  young  thing  like  you  can  do,  so  I  oughtn't  to 
stand  in  your  way  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it. ' ' 

Then  I  found  out  she  has  been  canning  and  pre 
serving  everything  she  can  get  her  hands  on,  as 
a  patriotic  measure,  and  she  supposed  that  was 
my  motive.  It  gave  me  a  jolt  to  think  that  while  I 
was  saying :  * '  Poor  old  thing,  there 's  so  little  she 
can  do,"  she  was  feeling  the  same  pity  for  my 
youth  and  inefficiency. 

Many  a  time  I've  helped  put  up  fruit,  but  this 
was  the  first  time  I'd  ever  been  allowed  the  whole 
responsibility.  The  minute  she  took  herself  off 
I  began.  Miss  Susan  was  upstairs,  starting  to 
pack  her  trunk,  so  I  had  the  kitchen  all  to  myself. 
It  is  an  attractive  old  kitchen,  every  tin  silver- 
bright,  and  all  in  such  perfect  order  that  I  could 
go  to  any  nail  or  shelf  in  the  dark,  absolutely  sure 
of  finding  on  it  the  utensil  it  is  expected  to  hold. 

Just  outside  the  screen  door,  on  the  back  step, 


HOME-COMINGS  195 

Captain  Kidd  lay  with  his  head  on  his  paws, 
watching  every  movement  through  his  shaggy 
bangs.  I  think  he  is  happy  to  have  me  at  home 
again,  but  the  house  has  been  so  quiet  during  my 
long  absence,  that  my  singing  disconcerts  him. 
He  sleeps  a  lot  now  that  he  is  such  an  old  dog, 
and  he  couldn't  take  his  usual  nap  while  I  was 
canning  those  berries.  At  Harrington  Hall  I 
never  could  let  my  voice  out  as  I  wanted  to  for 
fear  of  disturbing  the  public  peace.  Now  with  the 
whole  downstairs  to  myself,  I  sang  and  sang,  all 
the  time  I  stirred  and  sweetened  and  weighed  and 
screwed  the  tops  on  the  long  rows  of  waiting  glass 
jars. 

I  was  pretty  hot  by  the  time  I  came  to  the  last 
kettleful.  My  hands  were  stained,  and  I  had 
burned  my  wrist  and  spilled  juice  all  down  the 
front  of  my  bungalow  apron.  But  the  end  was  in 
sight,  and  I  swung  into  the  tune  of  "Tipperary" 
as  the  soldiers  sometimes  do  on  the  last  lap  of  a 
long  march.  All  of  a  sudden,  Captain  Kidd,  who 
had  been  drowsing  for  awhile,  lifted  his  head  with 
such  an  alert  air  that  I  stopped  singing  to  listen, 
too.  He  seldom  shows  excitement  now.  Then 
with  an  eager  little  yelp  that  was  half  bark,  half 
whine,  he  bounded  off  the  step  and  tore  around 
the  house  like  a  crazy  thing. 


196       GEOBGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

That  cry  meant  but  one  thing.  It  had  never 
meant  anything  else  since  he  was  a  puppy.  Rich 
ard  was  coming. 

He  always  heralded  him  that  way.  If  I  had 
had  any  doubt  of  that  first  little  cry  of  announce 
ment  there  could  be  none  about  the  fury  of  barking 
which  followed.  That  ecstasy  of  greeting  was  re 
served  for  one  person  alone.  It  couldn't  be  any 
one  but  Richard. 

A  figure  in  khaki  strode  past  the  window,  the 
dog  leaping  up  on  him  and  almost  turning  som 
ersaults  in  his  efforts  to  lick  his  face.  Then 
splash  went  the  ladle  into  the  kettle  (I  had  been 
holding  it  suspended  in  my  surprise),  and  the 
juice  splashed  all  over  the  stove.  The  next  in 
stant  Richard  was  in  the  kitchen,  both  hands  out 
stretched  to  grasp  mine,  and  we  were  looking 
questioningly  into  each  others  eyes.  It  was  a 
long  gaze,  for  we  were  each  frankly  curious  to 
see  if  the  other  had  changed. 

Barby  was  right.  The  two  years  had  made  a 
man  of  him.  He  was  larger  in  every  way,  and  in 
his  lieutenant's  uniform  looked  every  inch  a  sol 
dier.  He  spoke  first,  smiling  broadly. 

"The  same  old  girl,  only  taller  than  Barby 
now ! ' ' 

"The  same  old  Dare-devil  Dick!"  I  retorted, 
"only "  I  started  to  add  "so  tremendously 


HOME-COMINGS 


197 


good-looking  in  that  uniform,"  but  instead  just 
laughed,  as  I  drew  my  hands  away. 

4 'Only  what?"  he  persisted  in  his  old  teasing 
fashion.  But  I  wouldn't  tell,  and  there  we  were, 
right  back  again  on  our  old  squabbling  grounds, 
just  where  we  left  off  two  years  ago. 


CHAPTER  XVH 

BACK   WITH   THE   OLD   CROWD 

RICHARD  couldn't  stay  a  minute,  lie  said.  It 
wasn't  treating  his  Cousin  James  decently  to 
throw  his  bag  in  at  the  door  and  rush  off  up  here 
before  he'd  barely  spoken  to  him.  But  he  never 
felt  that  he'd  really  reached  home  till  he'd  been 
up  here,  and  he  couldn't  wait  to  tell  Barby  about 
his  good  luck. 

He  was  dreadfully  disappointed  to  find  that  she 
wasn't  at  home.  He  wouldn't  sit  down  at  first, 
just  perched  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  regardless 
of  what  the  spattered  blueberry  juice  might  do 
to  his  new  uniform,  and  hastily  outlined  his  plans. 
He  was  so  happy  over  the  prospect  of  getting  into 
active  service  that  will  count  for  a  lot,  that  he 
couldn't  talk  fast  enough.  We  both  had  so  much 
to  say,  not  having  seen  each  other  for  two  years, 
that  first  thing  we  knew  the  telephone  rang,  and  it 
was  his  Cousin  James  saying  that  dinner  was 
ready,  and  would  he  please  come  on.  And  here 
we  'd  been  talking  an  hour  and  ten  minutes  by  the 

198 


clock,  when  all  the  time  he  "didn't  have  a  minute 
to  stay,"  and  was  in  such  a  rush  to  be  off  that  he 
couldn't  sit  down  except  on  the  edge  of  the  table. 
He  couldn't  help  laughing  at  himself,  it  was  so 
absurd. 

Thinking  about  it  after  he'd  gone,  I  was  sure 
from  the  keen  way  he  kept  glancing  at  me  that  he 
did  find  me  changed,  after  all.  His  recollection  of 
me  didn't  fit  the  real  me,  any  more  than  my  last 
season's  dresses  do.  He  had  to  keep  letting  out 
seams  and  making  allowance  for  my  mental 
growth,  as  I  had  to  for  his.  That's  why  neither 
of  us  noticed  how  time  flew.  We  were  so  busy 
sort  of  exploring  each  other.  That's  why  I  found 
myself  looking  forward  with  such  interest  to  his 
coming  back  after  supper.  It's  like  going  back 
to  a  house  you've  known  all  your  life,  whose  every 
nook  and  corner  is  familiar,  and  finding  it  done 
over  and  enlarged.  You  enjoy  exploring  it,  to 
find  what's  left  unchanged  and  what's  been  added. 

Miss  Susan  and  I  had  a  cold  lunch  together. 
Then  it  took  me  half  the  afternoon  to  put  the 
kitchen  back  into  its  original  order  and  get  the 
blueberry  stains  off  my  fingernails.  Tippy  was 
pleased  with  the  way  she  found  things  when  she 
came  back,  though  she  wouldn't  have  compli 
mented  my  achievement  for  worlds.  But  I  know 
her  silences  now,  which  ones  are  approving  and 


200       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

which  displeased.  I  know  I  went  up  several  pegs 
in  her  respect.  I  heard  her  intimating  as  much  to 
Miss  Susan. 

I  wasn't  out  on  the  front  porch  with  them  when 
Richard  came  back  after  supper.  A  few  minutes 
before  he  came  I  suddenly  decided  to  change  my 
dress — to  put  on  a  new  one  that  Barby  bought 
me  the  last  day  I  was  in  Washington.  It's  a  little 
love  of  a  gown,  white  and  rose-color.  I'd  never 
worn  it  before,  so  it  took  some  time  to  locate  all 
the  hooks  and  snappers  and  get  them  fastened 
properly.  Richard  came  before  I  was  half 
through.  I  could  hear  quite  plainly  what  he  was 
saying  to  Tippy  and  Miss  Susan,  down  on  the 
front  porch. 

After  I  was  all  ready  to  go  down,  I  went  to  the 
mirror  for  one  more  look.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it.  It  was  the  most  becoming  dress  I  ever 
owned,  so  pretty  and  unusual,  in  fact,  that  I 
dreaded  to  face  Tippy  in  it.  She'd  wonder  why 
I  put  it  on  just  to  sit  at  home  all  evening,  when  the 
one  I  changed  from  was  perfectly  fresh.  Too 
often  she  does  her  wondering  aloud,  and  it's  em 
barrassing.  I  was  thankful  they  were  sitting  out 
on  the  porch.  The  rose  vines  darkened  it,  al 
though  the  world  outside  was  flooded  with  bril 
liant  moonlight.  She  wouldn  't  be  so  apt  to  notice 
out  there. 


BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD      201 

Just  as  I  put  out  the  lamp  and  started  towards 
the  stairs,  I  heard  Tippy  say  something  about 
moving  into  the  house  because  the  night  air  was 
bad  for  her  rheumatism.  I  didn't  want  to  meet 
her  in  the  full  glare  of  the  hall  chandelier,  so  I 
waited  on  the  upper  landing  long  enough  to  give 
them  time  to  go  in.  But  Eichard  was  slow  about 
following  them,  and  when  I  was  half  way  down 
the  stair  he  was  only  as  far  as  the  newel  post. 
Glancing  up,  he  saw  me  and  stopped.  I  knew  with 
out  his  saying  a  word  that  he  liked  my  dress.  His 
eyes  said  it.  He  has  wonderf  ally  expressive  eyes. 

It  was  nice  to  feel  that  I  was  making  what  the 
atrical  people  call  an  effective  stage  entrance. 
Quoting  from  a  play  we  had  been  in  together  a 
long  time  ago,  I  held  my  head  high  in  the  haughty- 
princess  manner  and  said  airily,  "Hath  waited 
long,  my  lord?" 

He  remembered  the  spirit  of  the  reply  if  not 
the  right  words,  and  made  up  an  answer  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  for 
courtliness.  We  swept  into  the  room,  carrying 
on  in  a  ridiculous  stagey  fashion  for  a  moment  or 
two,  not  giving  Tippy  a  chance  to  comment  on  my 
dress.  I  saw  her  looking  at  it  hard,  but  before  she 
could  get  in  a  word  edgeways,  Eichard  asked  me 
to  go  over  to  the  Gilf reds'  with  him.  He  met 
Judith  on  the  way  up  here  and  she  asked  him  to 


202       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

bring  me  over.  She  said  some  others  of  the  old 
crowd  would  be  there. 

George  Woodson  was  already  there,  sitting  in 
the  hammock  as  usual,  but  with  Judith's  guitar 
on  his  knees,  instead  of  the  ukelele  that  he  used 
to  tinkle.  We  could  hear  him  tuning  it  as  we  went 
up  the  path.  After  we  had  been  there  a  few  min 
utes  Babe  and  Watson  strolled  in.  Evidently 
they  had  had  some  sort  of  a  quarrel.  The  effect 
was  to  make  Watson  unmistakably  grouchy  and 
Babe  sarcastic.  It  was  so  noticeable  that  George 
said  to  me  in  an  aside,  ''Babe  is  singing  in  sharps 
to-night,  and  Watty's  gone  completely  off  the 
key." 

We  'd  been  away  so  long  that  naturally  our  first 
wish  was  to  find  out  where  everybody  was  and 
what  they  were  doing.  The  conversation  was 
such  for  awhile  that  Watson  was  decidedly  out 
of  it.  He  doesn't  know  many  Provincetown  peo 
ple,  having  been  here  only  a  few  times  on  visits 
to  the  Nelsons,  and  now  they're  gone  he  is  staying 
at  the  Gifford  House,  where  everybody's  strange. 
So  he  sat  in  one  end  of  the  porch  swing,  smoking. 
Sat  in  the  kind  of  a  silence  that  makes  itself  felt 
for  the  radius  of  half  a  mile. 

Nearly  everybody  brought  up  for  discussion 
was  away  at  some  training  camp  or  flying  school, 
or  getting  ready  for  naval  service.  Naturally  that 


BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD      203 

cast  a  gloom  on  George's  spirits,  as  he  is  always 
cursing  his  lot  whenever  he  sees  any  one  in  khaki, 
because  he  feels  left  out  of  the  game.  I  was  feel 
ing  a  bit  gloomy  myself  because  of  the  damper 
they  cast,  when  in  the  midst  of  the  questions  about 
other  people,  Eichard  suddenly  turned  to  Judith 
to  ask  about  Esther. 

"By  the  way,  Judith,  where  is  that  fascinating 
little  flirt  of  a  cousin  of  yours?" 

It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  him  speak  her 
name  since  she  left,  two  years  ago.  For  him  to 
be  able  to  refer  to  her  as  naturally  as  that,  just 
as  he  would  to  any  other  human  being,  certainly 
took  a  load  off  my  mind.  Whenever  I  thought  of 
these  two  in  connection  with  each  other,  I've  been 
afraid  that  the  jolt  she  gave  him  had  shaken  his 
faith  in  some  things.  But  evidently  the  old  wound 
had  healed  without  a  scar.  There  was  nothing  but 
plain,  ordinary  curiosity  in  the  questions  he  asked, 
when  Judith  answered  that  Esther  was  married 
last  winter.  She  married  Claude  Millins,  the  man 
she's  been  engaged  to  off  and  on  ever  since  she 
was  a  kid. 

Judith  went  down  to  the  wedding.  She  said  it 
was  a  brilliant  affair.  They  started  out  with  a 
rosy  future  ahead  of  them,  but  it  was  like  that  old 
missionary  hymn,  "Every  prospect  pleases,  and 
only  man  is  vile."  They've  been  having  a  per- 


204       GEQRGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

fectly  heathenish  time  ever  since  the  war  threw 
a  bomb  into  their  domestic  relations.  Claude  is 
crazy  about  Esther,  but  he  isn't  crazy  about  en 
listing.  He  is  a  pacifist.  She  had  forty-one  rela 
tives  in  the  Civil  War  on  the  Confederate  side. 
Over  half  of  them  were  killed  in  the  battle  of  Chie- 
amaugua,  and  she 's  ashamed  of  having  a  husband 
who's  a  slacker.  She  wants  him  to  be  a  hero. 
He  said  wasn't  it  "better  to  be  a  live  dog  than  a 
dead  lion?"  and  she  said  in  that  honey-sweet  way 
of  hers,  "a  yellow  dog?" 

' i  Gee ! ' '  said  Watson  suddenly,  for  the  first  time 
breaking  into  the  conversation.  "Did  they  quar 
rel  that  way  before  they  were  married?" 

Judith  said,  "Evidently.  She  always  spoke  of 
it  as  an  off  and  on  engagement." 

"Well,"  said  Richard  reminiscently,  "she  cer 
tainly  had  me  going  some,  but  after  all,  I  don't 
know  which  she  hit  the  hardest,  old  George  here, 
or  myself." 

"Or  John  Wynne,"  spoke  up  Babe,  who  was  in 
the  other  end  of  the  swing.  "What's  become  of 
that  good-looking  doctor?" 

Richard  was  the  only  one  who  could  answer  that 
question.  By  the  queerest  coincidence  they  had 
met  in  a  hotel  lobby  in  Boston,  and  had  lunched 
together  afterward.  The  doctor  will  soon  be  in 
France.  He 's  to  take  the  place  of  a  Harvard  class- 


BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD      205 

mate  of  his,  who  was  killed  recently  when  the  Am 
bulance  Corps  he  was  serving  with  was  nearly 
wiped  out. 

Babe  said  she  wondered  that  he  hadn't  gone 
over  long  before.  She  expected  him  to  right  after 
Esther  broke  up  his  life  the  way  she  did.  She 
imagined  he'd  be  like  Francesco,  in  the  story  of 
Ginevra — "  Francesco,  weary  of  his  life,  flew  to 
Venice,  and  embarking,  threw  it  away  in  battle 
with  the  Turks." 

"He  isn't  that  kind  of  a  man,  Babe,"  said  Rich 
ard.  "You  haven't  got  his  right  measure.  He's 
too  big  and  too  fine  to  fling  his  life  away  for  a 
little  personal  grievance.  It's  not  morbid  senti 
ment  but  a  matter  of  principle  that's  taking  him 
over.  He  asked  for  the  place  he 's  getting,  because 
he  thinks  it's  unattached  men  like  himself  who 
ought  to  fill  them.  Neither  he  nor  I  have  any  next 
of  kin  left  now,  who  are  near  enough  to  worry  over 
us  or  to  mourn  very  long  if  we  don't  get  back." 

It  did  me  a  world  of  good  to  hear  Richard  speak 
of  that  affair  as  "a  little  personal  grievance." 
Evidently  it  didn't  hurt  him  in  the  least  to  recall 
Esther  and  the  incidents  of  that  summer.  Under 
cover  of  some  anecdote  that  George  began  telling, 
Richard  said  in  an  aside  to  me,  "You  remember 
that  story  Miss  Crewes  told  us  about  him,  Geor- 
gina — his  doing  the  deed  for  the  deed's  sake. 


206       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

He's  just  like  that  all  the  way  through,  keeping 
himself  so  modestly  in  the  background  that  he 
never  gets  the  appreciation  that  is  his  rightful 
due." 

It  seems  so  nice  to  have  a  little  secret  like  that 
Sir  Gareth  story  with  Richard.  I  can't  explain 
just  what  it  is,  but  I  love  the  way  he  turns  to  me 
when  he  puts  an  intimate  little  parenthesis  like 
that  into  the  general  conversation,  just  for  me. 

Presently  Judith  mentioned  Miss  Crewes,  and 
then  Richard  remembered  to  tell  us  what  Doctor 
Wynne  told  him  about  her.  He  had  news  of  her 
death  recently.  Two  years  of  nursing  at  the  front 
was  too  much  for  her.  She  died  from  exposure 
and  overwork,  and  it  was  no  wonder  she  went  to 
pieces  as  she  did,  witnessing  so  much  German 
frightfulness.  She  was  in  one  of  the  hospitals 
that  they  bombed. 

Judith  shivered  and  put  her  hands  over  her  ears 
an  instant.  ''Somehow  we  keep  getting  back  to 
those  awful  subjects  no  matter  what  we  talk 
about,"  she  said.  "And  George  has  been  strum 
ming  nothing  but  minors  on  that  guitar  ever  since 
he  picked  it  up.  For  goodness'  sake,  strike  up 
something  to  make  us  forget  such  horrors — some 
thing  more  befitting  such  a  glorious  night." 

It  was  a  glorious  night.  The  Gilfred  place  runs 
right  down  to  the  water.  By  this  time  the  moon 


BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD      207 

was  high  overhead,  flooding  the  porch  steps  with 
such  a  bright  light  one  could  almost  see  to  read 
by  it. 

We  did  read  by  it  presently,  when  Lowry  Gil- 
f  red  came  spinning  up  on  his  bicycle.  He  always 
goes  downtown  the  minute  he  hears  the  night  train 
whistling  for  the  bridge,  and  brings  up  the  Boston 
and  New  York  papers.  He  held  one  up.  The 
headlines  were  so  big  and  black  we  could  read 
them  easily  several  feet  away. 

1 '  More  atrocities  by  the  Huns.  Inhuman  U-boat 
commander  fires  on  life-boats  escaping  from  tor 
pedoed  vessel." 

"Well,  Mor eland,"  said  Watson,  "that's  what 
we  '11  be  coming  up  against  in  a  week  or  two. ' '  His 
face  was  turned  towards  Richard  as  he  spoke,  but 
I  saw  him  glance  at  Babe  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  to  see  how  she  took  his  remark. 

Richard  answered  cheerfully  that  he  looked  on 
the  prospect  the  same  way  that  old  "Horatms  at 
the  bridge"  did.  "To  every  man  upon  this  earth, 
death  cometh  soon  or  late,"  and  as  long  as  he  had 
to  die  some  time,  he'd  rather  go  in  a  good  cause 
than  linger  to  a  doddering  old  age,  or  be  killed 
inch  at  a  time  by  the  germs  that  get  you  even 
when  you  do  watch  out. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  porch  railing  with  his  back 
against  one  of  the  white  pillars,  and  the  moon 


208       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

shone  full  on  his  upturned  face.  Remarking 
something  about  the  way  he  used  to  spout  Hora- 
tius  on  Friday  afternoons,  when  he  was  a  kid  at 
school,  he  went  on  repeating  from  it.  The  ex 
pression  on  his  face  must  have  been  the  one  Barby 
spoke  of  when  she  said  he  reminded  her  of  his 
father  in  his  inspired  moments.  He  said  it  in  a 
low,  intense  voice,  as  if  he  were  speaking  to  him 
self,  and  thrilled  with  the  deep  meaning  of  it : 

"And  how  can  men  die  better  than  facing  fearful 

odds 

For  the  ashes  of  their  fathers  and  the  temples 
of  their  gods?" 

Babe  said  afterwards  it  made  the  cold  chills  go 
down  her  back  to  hear  him  say  it  in  such  an  im 
pressive  way,  as  if  he'd  really  count  it  joy  to  die, 
"facing  fearful  odds."  She  was  afraid  maybe 
it  was  a  sign  he  was  going  to.  And  she  said  that 
his  saying  what  he  did,  as  he  did,  suddenly  made 
her  see  things  in  a  different  light,  herself.  That 's 
why  she  got  up  soon  after,  and  said  that  they  must 
be  going.  She  wanted  a  chance  to  tell  Watson 
she  'd  changed  her  mind,  and  that  he  was  right  in 
whatever  matter  it  was  they'd  been  arguing  about. 

But  before  they  went,  George  Woodson  started 
a  new  song  that's  lately  come  to  town.  They  say 


BACK  WITH  THE  OLD  CROWD      209 

all  the  soldiers  are  singing  it.  It  has  a  catchy 
sort  of  tune  you  can't  resist,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
we  were  all  chiming  in  with  him.  It  sounded 
awfully  sweet,  for  George  sings  a  lovely  tenor 
and  Eichard  a  good  bass,  so  we  had  a  full  quar 
tette.  It  was  just  like  old  times. 

"There's  a  long,  long  trail  a-winding 
Into  the  land  of  my  dreams, 
Where  the  nightingales  are  singing 
And  a  white  moon  beams. 
There 's  a  long,  long  night  of  waiting 
Until  my  dreams  all  come  true, 
Till  the  day — when  I'll  be — going  down 
That  long,  long  trail  with  you. ' ' 

We  sang  it  over  till  we  had  learned  the  words, 
and  then  we  couldn't  get  rid  of  it.  It  has 
such  a  haunting  sweetness  that  Richard  and  I 
hummed  scraps  of  it  all  the  way  home.  After  we 
said  good  night  and  I  went  up  to  my  room,  I  could 
hear  him  whistling  it.  I  leaned  out  of  my  window 
to  listen.  He  whistled  it  all  the  way  down  the 
street,  until  he  reached  the  Green  Stairs.  It 
sounded  so  happy.  I  wished  Babe  hadn't  said 
what  she  did  about  his  facing  fearful  odds. 


CHAPTER  XVIH 

A   WAR   WEDDING 

TALK  about  a  clap  of  thunder  out  of  a  clear 
sky — that's  nothing  to  the  surprise  Babe  gave  us 
the  very  next  night.  About  nine  o  'clock  she  called 
me  by  telephone  to  say: 

" Listen,  Georgina.  Is  Richard  still  there?  Is 
it  too  late  for  you  to  come  down  for  a  few  min 
utes?  Watson  and  I  are  to  be  married  tomorrow 
afternoon.  We've  just  decided.  Everything's  in 
a  dreadful  tangle.  We  want  you  to  help  straighten 
us  out." 

I  was  so  surprised  I  could  hardly  speak.  Tippy 
thought  someone  must  be  dead  from  the  horrified 
way  I  gasped  out,  * *  Oh,  you  don 't  mean  it ! "  The 
suddenness  of  it  did  horrify  me  in  a  way.  It 
seems  so  dreadful  to  be  snatched  through  the  most 
beautiful  and  sacred  occasion  of  one 's  life  so  fast 
that  there's  no  chance  to  do  any  of  the  time-hon 
ored  things  that  make  it  beautiful  and  impressive. 
For  all  Babe  seems  so  matter  of  fact  she's  full  of 
sentiment,  and  has  always  looked  forward  to  do- 

210 


A  WAR  WEDDING 211 

ing  those  romantic  things  that  brides  do,  such  as 
filling  a  "hope  chest"  with 

Stitches  set  in  long  white  seams 

To  the  silent  music  of  tender  dreams. 

Hurrying  up  a  wedding  in  one  day  in  such  a 
combination  family  as  the  Nolan-Dorseys  would 
be  like  scrambling  eggs.  Of  course,  we  went 
right  down. 

We  had  had  an  awfully  nice  day  together,  ex 
ploring  the  town  to  see  how  much  it  had  changed, 
and  calling  on  Uncle  Darcy  and  dropping  into 
'the  studios  where  we  have  been  welcomed  on  Mr. 
Moreland's  account  since  the  first  summer  he 
joined  the  Artist's  colony.  We'd  been  in  every 
store  on  Commercial  street  to  speak  to  the  clerks, 
and  out  to  the  end  of  Railroad  WTiarf  to  see  how 
many  of  our  old  fishermen  friends  we  could  find. 
Down  on  the  beach  an  art  class  pitched  their 
easels  and  went  on  painting  their  favorite  model, 
a  Portuguese  girl  under  a  green  parasol,  quite 
as  usual,  and  we  sat  on  the  sand  in  the  shadow  of 
a  boathouse  and  watched  them  lazily,  as  if  there 
weren't  any  Huns  and  their  horrors  in  the  uni 
verse. 

It  had  been  a  peaceful  day  up  to  the  time  we 
reached  Babe's  house.  The  tangle  she  spoke  of 


214       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

It  was  awfully  embarrassing  for  Watson  and 
uncomfortable  for  Richard.  Presently  they  dis 
appeared — went  out  on  the  front  steps  for  a 
smoke.  When  I  suggested  the  different  dress 
makers  who  might  be  persuaded  to  rush  some 
thing  through,  there  was  a  reason  why  each  one  on 
the  list  was  unavailable.  Miss  Doan  and  the  two 
next  best  had  left  town  on  a  vacation. 

Then  I  happened  to  think  of  that  evening  dress 
Babe  ruined  up  on  Mrs.  Waldon's  roof,  leaning 
against  the  rusty  railing.  It  had  a  white  silk 
under-dress,  and  in  a  flash  an  inspiration  came  to 
me.  With  that  silk  slip  for  a  foundation  /  would 
attempt  to  make  that  wedding  gown  myself,  al 
though  there  was  less  than  a  day  in  which  to  do 
it.  I'd  seen  a  lovely  piece  of  tulle  that  morning, 
when  we  stopped  in  the  Emporium. 

It  didn't  occur  to  me  at  first  what  a  daring 
thing  I  was  offering  to  do,  or  what  a  mess  I'd 
make  of  everything  if  I  failed.  I  was  sure  of  the 
needlework  part,  for  Tippy  began  my  sewing- 
lessons  so  far  back  I  can't  remember  the  first  one, 
and  what  passed  muster  with  her  was  good  enough 
for  any  bride  or  anybody.  And  I'd  made  simple 
wash  dresses  under  Barby's  direction. 

Babe  accepted  my  offer  with  the  sublime  con 
fidence  and  joy  that  Cinderella  showed  in  her  god 
mother's  ability  to  get  a  ball  gown  out  of  a  pump- 


A  WAR  WEDDING  215 

kin,  and  then  I  began  to  have  an  awful  panic. 
But  there  was  no  chance  to  back  out.  She  rap 
turously  called  Watson  in  to  tell  him  that  every 
body  could  be  happy  now,  for  I'd  found  the  end  of 
the  string  that  would  untangle  the  whole  skein. 

From  then  on  "  stick  began  to  beat  pig,  pig 
began  to  get  over  the  stile,  and  the  little  old  woman 
got  home  that  night."  During  the  next  ten  min 
utes  two  people  were  routed  out  of  bed  by  tele 
phone,  but  neither  one  minded  it  when  they  found 
it  was  for  something  as  romantic  as  a  war  wed 
ding.  Miss  Clara,  chief  clerk  at  the  Emporium, 
promised  to  get  the  store  keys  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  cut  off  the  goods  with  her  own  hands,  and 
have  it  delivered  to  me  by  seven  o'clock. 

The  other  wTas  Mrs.  Doan,  mother  of  the  dress 
maker  who  had  just  left  town.  "Yes,  indeed,  we 
could  have  Sallie's  dress  form,"  she  said  cor 
dially.  "Send  Jim  right  over  for  it." 

The  dress  form  was  collapsible,  so  Jim  brought 
it  over  in  a  box,  but  it  was  a  very  startling  and 
human-like  figure  that  Richard  had  to  carry  up 
the  street  for  me  over  his  shoulder.  There  being 
no  time  for  Babe  to  stand  for  fittings  herself,  we 
blew  up  the  dummy  like  a  balloon,  till  it  was  ad 
justed  to  fit  the  silk  slip.  Richard  kept  calling 
it  Sallie  Jane,  and  making  such  ridiculous  remarks 
to  it,  that  we  were  nearly  hysterical  from  laugh- 


214       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

It  was  awfully  embarrassing  for  Watson  and 
•uncomfortable  for  Richard.  Presently  they  dis 
appeared — went  out  on  the  front  steps  for  a 
smoke.  When  I  suggested  the  different  dress 
makers  who  might  be  persuaded  to  rush  some 
thing  through,  there  was  a  reason  why  each  one  on 
the  list  was  unavailable.  Miss  Doan  and  the  two 
next  best  had  left  town  on  a  vacation. 

Then  I  happened  to  think  of  that  evening  dress 
Babe  ruined  up  on  Mrs.  Waldon's  roof,  leaning 
against  the  rusty  railing.  It  had  a  white  silk 
under-dress,  and  in  a  flash  an  inspiration  came  to 
me.  With  that  silk  slip  for  a  foundation  I  would 
attempt  to  make  that  wedding  gown  myself,  al 
though  there  was  less  than  a  day  in  which  to  do 
it.  I'd  seen  a  lovely  piece  of  tulle  that  morning, 
when  we  stopped  in  the  Emporium. 

It  didn't  occur  to  me  at  first  what  a  daring 
thing  I  was  offering  to  do,  or  what  a  mess  I'd 
make  of  everything  if  I  failed.  I  was  sure  of  the 
needlework  part,  for  Tippy  began  my  sewing- 
lessons  so  far  back  I  can't  remember  the  first  one, 
and  what  passed  muster  with  her  was  good  enough 
for  any  bride  or  anybody.  And  I'd  made  simple 
wash  dresses  under  Barby's  direction. 

Babe  accepted  my  offer  with  the  sublime  con 
fidence  and  joy  that  Cinderella  showed  in  her  god 
mother's  ability  to  get  a  ball  gown  out  of  a  pump- 


A  WAR  WEDDING  215 

kin,  and  then  I  began  to  have  an  awful  panic. 
But  there  was  no  chance  to  back  out.  She  rap 
turously  called  Watson  in  to  tell  him  that  every 
body  could  be  happy  now,  for  I'd  found  the  end  of 
the  string  that  would  untangle  the  whole  skeiii. 

From  then  on  "  stick  began  to  beat  pig,  pig 
began  to  get  over  the  stile,  and  the  little  old  woman 
got  home  that  night."  During  the  next  ten  min 
utes  two  people  were  routed  out  of  bed  by  tele 
phone,  but  neither  one  minded  it  when  they  found 
it  was  for  something  as  romantic  as  a  war  wed 
ding.  Miss  Clara,  chief  clerk  at  the  Emporium, 
promised  to  get  the  store  keys  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  cut  off  the  goods  with  her  own  hands,  and 
have  it  delivered  to  me  by  seven  o'clock. 

The  other  was  Mrs.  Doan,  mother  of  the  dress 
maker  who  had  just  left  town.  "Yes,  indeed,  we 
could  have  Sallie's  dress  form,"  she  said  cor 
dially.  "Send  Jim  right  over  for  it." 

The  dress  form  was  collapsible,  so  Jim  brought 
it  over  in  a  box,  but  it  was  a  very  startling  and 
human-like  figure  that  Richard  had  to  carry  up 
the  street  for  me  over  his  shoulder.  There  being 
no  time  for  Babe  to  stand  for  fittings  herself,  we 
blew  up  the  dummy  like  a  balloon,  till  it  was  ad 
justed  to  fit  the  silk  slip.  Richard  kept  calling 
it  Sallie  Jane,  and  making  such  ridiculous  remarks 
to  it,  that  we  were  nearly  hysterical  from  laugh- 


216       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

ing  when  we  finally  started  home  with  it.  It  was 
bright  moonlight,  but  so  late  that  we  passed  only 
a  few  people  on  the  street.  These  few  stared  in 
open-mouthed  wonder  at  the  stiff  lady  in  white 
thrown  over  Richard 's  shoulder,  and  one  man 
turned  and  followed  us  half  a  block  to  satisfy  his 
curiosity. 

Tippy  would  have  helped  next  morning,  but  she 
had  to  bring  Belle 's  children  up  to  spend  the  day. 
Aunt  Elspeth  was  very  much  worse.  I  took  the 
downstairs  guest  chamber  for  my  workshop.  By 
five  minutes  past  seven  the  tulle  was  spread  out 
on  the  big  four  poster,  and  my  scissors  were  slash 
ing  into  it.  From  then  on  until  noon  I  worked  in 
nightmarish  haste.  Of  course  I  couldn't  have  fin 
ished  it  if  it  had  been  satin  goods  or  something 
like  that,  but  the  tulle  was  easy  to  handle,  and  I 
pinned  and  patted  it  into  shape  on  patient  Sallie 
Jane  till  it  began  to  look  like  the  picture  I  had 
in  mind. 

Richard  came  up  about  the  middle  of  the  morn 
ing.  I  heard  him  go  striding  through  the  hall. 
Then  his  laugh  rang  out  from  the  kitchen  where 
Tippy  was  letting  the  children  help  her  make  oat 
meal  cookies. 

Then  I  heard  him  coming  back,  and  looked  up 
to  see  him  in  the  doorway.  He  only  saluted  and 
did  not  venture  in,  as  I  was  down  on  my  knees  be- 


Richard  salutes  "Bailie  Jane." 


A  WAR  WEDDING  217 

fore  Sallie  Jane,  making  the  bridal  skirts  hang 
evenly.  He  could  see  it  was  a  critical  moment. 
He  said  he  merely  dropped  in  to  report  that  every 
thing  was  going  smoothly  at  the  Nolan-Dorseys. 
The  license  and  the  ring  were  ready,  the  auto  en 
gaged  to  take  the  happy  couple  to  Chatham.  They 
would  proceed  from  there  to  Boston  by  rail  next 
day.  Judith  was  at  the  house  now,  helping  the 
family  keep  their  head  between  their  ears,  and 
the  only  trouble  was  the  telephoning.  The  list  of 
people  who  wrould  be  slighted  if  not  notified  was  so 
long  that  Jim  suggested  sending  out  the  town 
crier,  and  being  done  with  it. 

"Poor  Uncle  Darcy,"  I  said.  "He  won't  be 
able  to  see  the  wedding.  Aunt  Elspeth  is  so  much 
worse.  He 's  always  been  mixed  up  in  the  impor 
tant  happenings  of  my  life,  and  he  would  have 
taken  such  pride  in  seeing  us  march  up  the  aisle, 
you  as  best  man  and  me  as  maid  of  honor " 

Then  I  broke  off  short  and  whirled  Sallie  Jane 
around  on  her  pivot  as  if  I  had  found  something 
the  matter  which  absorbed  my  attention.  But  in 
reality  I  had  just  remembered  that  it  was  my 
eighteenth  birthday,  and  came  very  near  remind 
ing  him  of  the  fact.  To  think  of  having  forgotten 
it  myself  till  the  morning  was  half  gone !  I  had 
come  to  my  "Field  Elysian,"  and  it  was  a  lonely 
place,  for  nobody  else  remembered.  The  surest 


218       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

sign  that  I  had  reached  it  was  that  I  did  not 
frankly  proclaim  the  fact,  frankly  expectant  of 
birthday  offerings.  I  didn't  want  anything  if  peo 
ple  had  to  be  reminded  of  the  date.  I  took  the 
corner  of  a  paper  of  pins  between  my  teeth  and 
stood  up  to  pin  the  sleeves  in  place. 

Richard  looked  on  approvingly.  "That  really 
begins  to  look  like  something,"  he  said.  " Looks 
like  a  white  cloud.  Even  on  old  Sallie  Jane  you'd 
know  it  was  a  bridal  outfit.  You're  a  trump, 
Georgina,  for  rushing  things  through  this  way. 
Babe  ought  to  be  everlastingly  grateful.  But 
while  it's  'Very  nice  for  Mary  Ann,  it's  rather 
hard  on  Abraham.'  Do  you  realize  I've  only  four 
more  days  left  to  spend  in  this  old  town?  This 
wedding  is  knocking  a  whole  quarter  of  it  out  of 
my  calculations." 

'Something  made  me  glance  up.  He  was  look 
ing  down  at  me  so  intently  it  flustered  me.  I 
found  myself  trying  to  pin  the  left  sleeve  into  the 
right  arm. 

"I  don't  believe  in  these  war  weddings,"  he  said 
almost  fiercely.  "Watt  hadn't  any  right  to  ask 
her  to  marry  him  now  and  take  such  chances. 
Suppose  he'd  be  killed?" 

"She'd  feel  that  he  was  hers,  at  any  rate,"  I 
said  between  my  teeth,  still  holding  on  to  the 
paper  of  pins.  "She'd  have  the  memory  of  this 


A  WAIfc  WEDDING  219 

wedding,  and  the  few  happy  days  to  follow,  and 
she'd  have  the  proud  feeling  that  she  was  the 
wife  of  a  man  who  'd  given  his  life  bravely.  She  'd 
be  giving  something  to  the  cause  herself,  a  con 
tinuing  sacrifice,  for  it  would  keep  on  all  the  rest 
of  her  life." 

"But  suppose  he  wasn't  killed  outright.  Sup 
pose  he'd  come  back  to  her  crippled  or  blinded 
or  frightfully  disfigured.  He  oughtn't  to  want 
to  tie  her  for  life  to  just  a  part  of  a  man. " 

Then  I  took  up  for  Babe  so  emphatically  that  I 
dropped  the  pins.  "Then  she'd  be  eyes  to  him 
and  feet  to  him  and  hands  to  him — and  every 
thing  else.  And  she'd  glory  in  it.  /  would  if  I 
loved  a  man  as  Babe  does  Watson  Tucker,  though 
I  don't  see  what  she  sees  in  him  to  care  for." 

"I  believe  you  would,"  he  answered  slowly. 
Then  after  a  long  pause  he  added,  "It  certainly 
must  make  a  difference  to  a  man  over  there  to 
know  he's  got  somebody  back  home,  caring  for 
him  like  that!" 

He  left  in  a  few  moments,  and  I  had  to  work 
harder  than  ever  for  I  had  slowed  up  a  bit  while 
we  talked.  The  wedding  was  at  four.  I  am  sure 
I  was  the  happiest  one  in  the  crowd,  for  not  only 
was  the  dress  done  in  time,  it  was  pronounced  a 
real  "creation. "  Babe  never  looked  so  well  in  her 
life.  Judith  had  worked  some  sort  of  miracle  on 


220       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

her  hair,  and  in  that  simple  fluff  of  white  tulle 
she  was  almost  pretty. 

Never  did  a  Maid  of  Honor  have  less  time  for 
her  own  arraying.  I  hurriedly  slipped  into  the 
same  dress  of  rose-color  and  white  that  I  wore  the 
night  of  Richard's  arrival,  and  put  on  the  little 
pearl  necklace  that  had  been  Barby's.  "When  he 
came  for  me  in  his  Cousin  James'  machine  he 
brought  a  big  armful  of  roses  for  me  to  carry. 
It  made  me  awfully  happy  to  have  him  say, 
"Many  happy  returns  of  the  day"  when  he  gave 
them  to  me,  even  when  he  laughingly  confessed 
that  he  hadn't  remembered  the  date  himself.  It 
was  Judith  who  reminded  them  that  the  wedding 
day  and  my  birthday  were  the  same.  Even  so,  it 
was  nice  to  have  the  event  marked  by  his  lovely 
roses. 

Despite  all  Judith's  precautions  we  had  a  wild 
scramble  to  get  all  the  little  Dorseys  corralled  for 
a  final  dress  review.  Each  one  of  them  came  up 
with  some  important  article  missing,  which  had 
to  be  hunted  for.  Then  a  sudden  calm  descended. 
We  found  ourselves  at  the  door  of  the  Church  of 
the  Pilgrims.  We  were  going  slowly,  very 
slowly  up  the  aisle  to  the  solemn  organ  music, 
conscious  of  a  white  blur  of  faces  on  each  side. 
The  church  was  packed. 

There  had  been  no  time  for  a  rehearsal,  but, 


A  WAB  WEDDING 221 

for  once,  luck  was  with  the  Nolan-Dorseys.  No 
body  stumbled,  nobody  dropped  anything,  nobody 
responded  in  the  wrong  place.  As  Jim  remarked 
afterward,  "We  did  real  well  for  a  bunch  of  ama 
teurs.  We  flocked  all  right  though  not  even  birds 
of  a  feather;  one  man  in  naval  uniform,  one  in 
aviator's,  and  one  in  civilian's." 

Jim  gave  the  bride  away.  I  was  strung  up  to 
such  a  nervous  tension  for  fear  it  wouldn't  go  off 
all  right  that  I  never  took  a  full  breath  till  Jim 
was  through  his  part,  the  ring  on  Babe's  finger 
and  her  bouquet  safely  back  in  her  hands  again. 
It  was  only  at  the  very  last  when  the  old  minister 
who  was  perfectly  devoted  to  Babe  began  to  falter 
through  a  prayer,  that  I  realized  I  hadn't  really 
heard  the  ceremony.  It  had  gone  in  one  ear  and 
out  the  other,  leaving  no  impression  of  its  sacred 
meaning. 

But  if  I  missed  the  impressiveness  of  it  Babe 
and  Watson  did  not.  He  was  as  pale  as  a  ghost, 
and  her  hands  trembled  so  they  could  hardly  hold 
her  flowers.  It  was  a  solemn  time  for  them.  Then 
it  grew  solemn  for  me,  as  a  sentence  of  the  last 
prayer  caught  my  attention. 

"And  take  now,  into  Tiny  especial  care  and 
keeping,  those  wlio  go  forth  from  this  altar  to 
defend  us,  both  upon  the  high  seas  and  in  the 
boundless  battle  plains  of  the  air." 


222       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

He  was  praying  for  Richard  too.  I  glanced 
across  at  him  and  found  that  he  was  looking  in 
tently  at  me.  I  had  never  seen  such  an  expression 
in  his  eyes  before — a  sort  of  goodbye,  as  if  he  were 
looking  at  me  for  the  last  time,  and  was  sorry. 
It  was  the  dearest  look.  Our  eyes  met  gravely  for 
an  instant,  then  just  the  shadow  of  a  smile  crept 
into  his,  and  mine  dropped.  I  couldn  't  understand 
why  that  little  half-smile  should  make  me  so  sort 
of  happy  and  confused.  Then  the  "Amen!" 
sounded  and  the  organ  pealed  out  the  wedding 
march,  and  with  my  hand  on  his  arm  we  followed 
the  bridal  couple  down  the  aisle,  and  out  through 
the  door  to  the  automobile,  waiting  to  take  them 
to  Chatham. 

Once  out  of  the  door  Babe  wasn't  a  bit  digni 
fied.  In  her  hurry  to  get  away  before  the  crowd 
could  follow  and  hold  a  curbstone  reception,  she 
chased  down  the  long  board  walk  leading  from 
the  church  to  the  street  so  fast  that  Watson  could 
hardly  keep  up.  They  didn't  pretend  to  keep 
step.  She  had  a  long  coat  and  a  hat  waiting  for 
her  in  the  machine.  She  had  kissed  her  family 
all  around  before  leaving  the  house,  so  she  just 
piled  in  as  she  was,  and  began  pulling  off  her  veil 
while  the  chauffeur  cranked  up. 

"I'll  change  at  Chatham,"  she  called  back  to  us. 

"No,  Mrs.  Tucker,"  Richard  remarked  as  the 


223 


machine  dashed  off,  "you'll  never  change.    You'll 
always  be  just  like  that. ' ' 

"The  whole  affair  has  been  more  like  a  whirl 
wind  than  a  wedding,"  said  Judith  as  she  joined 
us.  "I'm  limp." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  VIGIL  IN   THE  SWING 

WHEN  I  look  back  on  that  hot  July  day  it  seems 
a  week  long ;  so  much  was  crowded  into  it.  After 
the  ceremony  we  took  Tippy  up  home  in  the  ma 
chine  with  the  children,  and  then  went  for  a  drive. 
I  hadn't  realized  how  tired  I  was  till  I  sank  back 
into  the  comfortable  seat  beside  Richard.  Noth 
ing  could  have  rested  me  more  than  that  rapid 
spin  toward  Wellfleet  with  the  salt  breeze  in  my 
face.  As  we  started  out  of  town  Richard  glanced 
at  his  watch. 

"Only  sixty- three  hours  more  for  this  old 
burg,"  he  announced.  "I've  got  it  figured  down 
to  a  fine  point  now.  Even  to  the  minutes." 

"So  anxious  to  get  away?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that.  I'm  keen  enough  to  get  busy 
over  there,  but "  He  did  not  finish  but  pres 
ently  nodded  toward  the  water  where  a  great  fleet 
of  fishing  boats  was  putting  into  port.  They  filled 
the  harbor  with  a  flashing  of  sails  in  the  late 
afternoon  sunshine,  like  a  flock  of  white-winged 

224 


THE  VIGIL  IN  THE  SWING          225 

birds.  "I'm  wondering  how  long  it  will  be  before 
I  see  that  again." 

I  answered  with  a  line  from  '  *  Kathleen  Mavour- 
neen, ' '  humming  it  airily :  "It  may  be  for  years 
and  it  may  be  forever. ' ' 

"Don't  you  care?"  he  demanded  almost  crossly, 
with  his  eyes  intent  on  the  triple  curve  just  ahead. 

' '  Of  course  I  care, ' '  I  answered.  l  i  If  you  were 
a  truly  own  brother  I  couldn't  feel  any  worse 
about  your  going  off  into  all  that  danger,  and  I 
couldn't  be  any  prouder  of  you.  And  I  think  that 
under  the  circumstances  we  might  be  allowed  to 
put  another  star  on  our  service  flag,  one  for  you 
as  well  as  for  Father.  You  belong  to  us  more  than 
anyone  else  now." 

"Will  you  do  that?"  he  asked  quickly,  and  with 
such  eagerness  that  I  saw  he  was  both  touched 
and  pleased.  "It  makes  a  tremendous  difference 
to  a  fellow  to  feel  that  he's  got  some  sort  of 
family  ties — that  he  isn't  just  floating  around  in 
space  like  a  stray  balloon.  It's  a  mighty  lonesome 
feeling  to  think  that  there's  nobody  left  to  miss 
you  or  care  what  becomes  of  you." 

"Oh,  we'll  care  all  right,"  I  promised  him. 
"We'll  be  a  really  truly  family  to  you,  and  we'll 
miss  you  and  write  to  you  and  knit  for  you. " 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  the  triple  curve  now, 
with  a  machine  honking  somewhere  ahead,  but  he 


226       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

turned  to  flash  a  pleased  smile  at  me  and  we  came 
very  near  to  a  collision.  He  had  to  veer  to  one 
side  so  suddenly  that  we  were  nearly  thrown  out. 
For  two  years  he  has  been  so  eager  to  go  over 
seas  that  I  hadn't  an  idea  he  would  have  any 
homesick  qualms  when  the  time  came,  but  to  find 
that  he  was  hanging  on  to  each  hour  as  something 
precious  made  me  twice  as  sorry  to  see  him  go  as 
I  would  have  been  otherwise. 

As  we  came  back  into  town  he  glanced  at  his 
watch  again  but  said  nothing  until  I  leaned  over 
to  look  too. 

"How  many  hours  now?"  I  asked.  "Only 
sixty-one  and  a  half,"  he  answered,  "and  they'll 
whiz  by  like  a  streak  of  lightning. ' '  From  then  on 
I  began  counting  them  too. 

There  was  a  birthday  letter  from  Barby  wait 
ing  for  me  when  I  -got  home,  such  a  dear  one  that 
I  took  it  off  to  my  room  to  read  by  myself.  The 
package  she  mentioned  sending  was  evidently  de 
layed.  As  I  sat  in  front  of  my  mirror,  brushing 
my  hair  before  going  down  to  supper,  I  thought 
what  a  very,  very  different  birthday  this  was 
from  the  one  we  had  planned  for  my  eighteenth 
anniversary.  Still  it  had  been  a  happy  day.  I 
felt  repaid  for  my  wild  rush  every  time  I  recalled 
Babe's  face  when  she  saw  herself  for  the  first 
time  in  her  wedding  gown.  Her  delight  was  pa- 


THE  VIGIL  IN  THE  SWING          227 

thetic,  and  her  gratitude  will  be  something  to  re 
member  always,  that  and  the  fact  that  I  was  a 
bridesmaid  for  the  first  time — and  a  Maid  of 
Honor  at  that. 

Suddenly  I  came  to  myself  with  a  start  to  find 
myself  with  my  hair  down  over  my  shoulders  and 
my  brush  held  in  mid  air,  while  I  gazed  at  some 
thing  in  the  depths  of  the  mirror.  Something 
that  wasn't  there.  The  altar  and  the  bridal  party 
before  it,  and  the  Best  Man  looking  across  at  me 
with  that  grave,  wistful  expression  that  was  like 
a  leave-taking.  And  then  his  smile  as  our  eyes 
met.  It  seems  strange  that  just  recalling  a  little 
thing  like  that  should  make  me  glowingly  happy, 
yet  in  some  unaccountable  way  it  did. 

Judith  and  George  Woodson  came  up  after 
supper.  I  was  almost  sorry  they  did,  for  Richard 
had  asked  me  to  play  the  "Reverie"  that  he  al 
ways  asks  Barby  for.  He  was  stretched  out  on  the 
leather  couch  with  his  hands  clasped  under  his 
head,  looking  so  comfortable  and  contented  it 
seemed  a  pity  to  disturb  him.  He  '11  think  of  that 
old  couch  and  the  times  he 's  lain  on  it  listening  to 
Barby  play,  many  a  time  when  he's  off  there  in 
range  of  the  enemy's  guns. 

They  stayed  till  after  ten  o'clock,  talking  aero 
planes  mostly,  for  George  got  Richard  started  to 
describing  nose  dives  and  spirals  and  all  the  won- 


228       GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STARS 

derful  somersault  stunts  they  do  above  the  clouds. 
He  knows  so  much  about  machines,  having  helped 
build  them,  that  he  could  sketch  the  different 
parts  of  them  while  he  was  talking,  and  he  knows 
the  record  of  all  the  famous  pilots,  just  as  a  base 
ball  fan  knows  all  about  the  popular  players. 
While  he  was  up  in  Canada  he  met  two  of  the 
most  daring  aces  who  ever  flew,  one  from  the 
French  Escadrille,  and  one  an  Englishman  of  the 
Royal  Flying  Corps.  It  was  his  acquaintance 
with  the  Englishman  which  led  to  Richard's  being 
assigned  to  the  Royal  Naval  Air  Service.  He 's  to 
learn  the  British  methods  of  handling  sea-planes, 
and  he's  hoping  with  all  his  heart  that  he  won't  be 
brought  home  as  an  instructor  when  he  has  learned 
it.  He  wants  to  stay  right  there  patrolling  the 
Channel  and  making  daring  raids  now  and  then 
over  the  enemy's  lines. 

It  must  have  been  torture  for  George  to  listen 
to  his  enthusiastic  description  of  duels  above  the 
clouds  and  how  it  feels  to  whiz  through  space  at 
a  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles  an  hour,  because 
it  was  the  dream  of  his  life  to  get  into  that  branch 
of  the  service.  His  disappointment  makes  him 
awfully  bitter.  Still  he  persisted  in  talking  about 
it,  because  he's  so  interested  he  can't  keep  off  the 
subject.  It's  a  thousand  times  more  thrilling 
than  any  of  the  old  tales  of  knight  errantry,  and 


229 


I'm  glad  George  kept  on  asking  questions.  Oth 
erwise  I'd  never  have  found  out  what  an  amaz 
ing  lot  Eichard  knows  that  I  never  even  sus 
pected. 

During  the  last  few  minutes  of  their  visit  I 
heard  Tippy  out  in  the  hall,  answering  the  tele 
phone.  She  came  in  just  as  they  were  all  leaving, 
to  tell  us  it  was  a  message  from  Belle.  Aunt 
Elspeth  was  sinking  rapidly.  The  end  was  very 
near  now.  Uncle  Darcy  had  asked  for  Barby,  for 
getting  she  was  away,  and  Belle  thought  it  would 
be  a  comfort  to  him  to  feel  that  some  of  the  fam 
ily  were  in  the  house,  keeping  the  vigil  with 
him. 

Tippy  had  intended  to  go  down  herself  as  soon 
as  the  children  were  asleep,  but  little  Judson  kept 
waking  up  and  crying  at  finding  himself  in  a 
strange  bed.  He  seemed  a  bit  feverish  and  she 
was  afraid  to  leave  him.  So  Richard  and  I  went. 
When  Judith  and  George  left  we  walked  with 
them  part  of  the  way. 

I've  seen  many  a  moonlight  night  on  the  har 
bor  before,  when  the  water  was  turned  to  a  glory 
of  rippling  silver,  but  never  have  I  seen  it  such  a 
sea  of  splendor  as  it  was  that  night  we  strolled 
along  beside  it.  It  was  entrancingly  beautiful — 
that  luminous  path  through  the  water,  and  the 
boats  lifting  up  their  white  sails  in  the  shining 


230       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

silence  were  like  pearl-white  moths  spreading 
motionless  wings. 

None  of  us  felt  like  talking,  the  beauty  was  so 
unearthly,  so  we  went  along  with  scarcely  a  word, 
until  we  reached  the  business  part  of  the  town. 
There  the  buildings  on  the  beach  side  of  the  street 
hid  the  view  of  the  water.  Both  picture-shows 
were  just  out,  and  the  gay  summer  crowds  surg 
ing  up  and  down  the  narrow  board  walk  and 
overflowing  into  the  middle  of  the  street  were  as 
noisy  as  a  flock  of  jaybirds.  George  and  Judith 
left  us  at  the  drug-store  corner,  going  in  for  ice 
cream  soda. 

When  we  turned  into  Fishburn  Court,  there  on 
the  edge  of  the  dunes,  we  seemed  entering  a  dif 
ferent  world.  It  was  so  still,  shut  in  by  the  high 
warehouses  between  it  and  town.  We  opened  the 
gate  noiselessly  and  went  up  the  path  past  the  old 
wooden  swing.  The  full  moon  shining  high  over 
head  made  the  little  doorway  almost  as  bright  as 
day,  except  for  the  circle  of  shadow  under  the 
apple  tree.  Even  there  the  light  filtered  through 
in  patches.  All  the  doors  and  windows  stood 
open.  A  candle  flickered  on  the  high  black  man 
tel  in  the  sitting-room.  In  the  bedroom  be 
yond  the  lamp  on  the  bureau  was  turned  low. 

Belle  met  us  at  the  door,  motioning  us  toward 
the  bedroom.  Coming  in  from  the  white  radi- 


THE  VIGIL  IN  THE  SWING          231 

ance  ontside  the  light  seemed  dim  at  first,  but  it 
was  enough  to  show  the  big  four-posted  bed  with 
Aunt  Elspeth  lying  motionless  on  it.  Such  a  frail 
little  body  she  was,  but  her  delicate,  flower-like 
sort  of  beauty  had  lasted  even  into  her  silver- 
haired  old  age.  She  did  not  seem  to  be  breath 
ing,  but  Uncle  Darcy,  sitting  beside  her  holding 
her  hand,  was  leaning  over  talking  to  her  as  if  she 
could  still  hear.  Just  bits  of  sentences,  but  with 
a  cadence  of  such  infinite  tenderness  in  the  broken 
words  that  it  hurt  one  to  hear  them. 

"Dan'l's  right  here,  lass.  .  .  .  He  won't  leave 
you.  .  .  .  No,  no,  my  dear.'* 

I  drew  back,  but  Belle's  motioning  hand  in 
sisted.  "  Just  let  him  see  that  you're  here  to  keep 
watch  with  him,"  she  whispered.  "It'll  be  a 
comfort  to  him. ' ' 

So  we  went  in.  When  I  laid  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder  he  looked  up  with  a  dazed  expression  till 
he  saw  who  it  was  and  who  was  with  me.  Then 
he  smiled  at  us  both,  and  after  that  one  welcom 
ing  glance  turned  back  to  the  bed. 

We  went  back  to  the  sitting  room  and  stood 
there  a  moment,  uncertainly.  Then  Richard 
opened  the  screen  door,  beckoning  me  to  follow. 
He  led  the  way  to  the  swing,  and  we  stepped  in 
and  sat  down,  facing  each  other.  It  stood  so 
close  to  the  cottage  that  to  sit  there  opposite  the 


232       GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STARS 

open  window  was  almost  like  being  in  the  room. 
The  glow  from  the  lamp  streamed  out  across  the 
grass  towards  us,  dimly  yellow.  We  could  see 
every  movement,  hear  every  rustle.  Belle  and  the 
nurse  tiptoed  back  and  forth.  Danny  went  out 
and  came  in  again.  Then  they  settled  back  into 
the  shadowy  corners. 

Somewhere  away  up  in  the  town,  a  phonograph 
began  playing  "The  Long,  Long  Trail."  The 
notes  came  to  us  faintly  a  few  moments,  then 
stopped,  and  the  silence  grew  deeper  and  deeper. 
Nothing  broke  it  except  a  cricket's  chirp  in  the 
grass,  and  now  and  then  a  half-whispered  word 
of  soothing  from  Uncle  Darcy.  He  crooned  as  he 
would  to  a  sleepy  child. 

"There's  naught  to  fear,  lass.  .  .  .  All's  well. 
.  .  .  Dan'l's  holding  you." 

Already  she  was  beyond  the  comfort  of  his 
voice,  but  he  kept  on  murmuring  reassuringly,  as 
if  the  protecting  care  that  had  never  failed  her 
in  a  long  half-century  of  devotion  was  great 
enough  now  in  this  extreme  hour  to  push  aside 
even  Death.  He  would  go  with  her  down  into, 
the  very  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

As  I  sat  there  listening,  dozens  of  little  scenes 
came  crowding  up  out  of  the  past  like  mute  wit 
nesses  to  their  beautiful  love  for  each  other. 
There  was  the  day  Mrs.  Saggs  found  a  night- 


THE  VIGIL  IN  THE  SWING         233 

gown  of  Aunt  Elspeth's  in  the  work-basket  with 
a  bungling  patch  half-stitched  on  by  Uncle 
Darcy's  stiff  old  fingers,  and  what  she  said  about 
those  old  hands  making  a  botch  of  patches,  but 
never  any  botch  in  being  kind.  And  the  day 
Father  and  I,  waiting  in  the  kitchen,  saw  her 
cling  to  him  and  tell  him  quaveringly,  "  You  're 
always  so  good  to  me,  Dan'l.  You're  the  best  man 
the  Lord  ever  made." 

I  do  not  know  how  long  we  sat  there,  but  there 
was  time  to  review  all  the  many  happy  days  I  had 
spent  with  them  in  the  little  cottage.  Then  some 
very  new  and  startling  thoughts  came  crowding 
up  in  the  overwhelming  way  they  do  when  one  is 
drowning.  It  seems  to  me  I  grew  years  older  in 
that  time  of  Avaiting.  I  had  always  been  afraid 
of  Death  before,  but  suddenly  the  fear  left  me. 
It  was  no  longer  to  be  dreaded  as  the  strongest 
thing  in  the  world,  if  Love  could  thrust  it  aside 
like  that  and  walk  on  past  it,  immortal  and  un 
afraid. 

I  didn't  know  I  was  crying  till  two  tears 
splashed  down  on  my  hands,  which  were  pressed 
tightly  together  in  my  lap.  A  little  shiver  ran 
over  me.  Kichard  leaned  forward  and  took  my 
white  sweater  from  the  back  of  the  seat  where  I 
had  thrown  it,  motioning  for  me  to  put  it  on.  I 
shook  my  head  but  he  kept  on  holding  it  out  for 


234:       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

me  to  slip  my  arms  into,  in  that  insistent,  master 
ful  way  of  his,  till  finally  I  did  so.  I  hadn't  known 
I  was  cold  till  I  felt  the  warmth  of  it  around  me. 
Then  I  noticed  that  a  breeze  had  sprung  up  and 
was  stirring  the  boughs  of  the  apple  tree,  and  my 
hands  were  like  ice  from  the  long  nervous  strain. 

But  even  more  comforting  than  the  wrap  which 
enveloped  me  was  the  inward  wrarmth  that  came 
from  the  sense  of  being  watched  over  and  taken 
care  of. 

The  long  vigil  went  on.  Suddenly  the  nurse 
leaned  over  and  said  something.  And  then — Belle 
pulled  down  the  shade. 

After  a  few  moments  Uncle  Darcy  came  stum- 
blingly  out  to  the  doorway  and  sat  down  on  the 
step,  burying  his  face  in  his  hands.  Richard  and 
I  looked  at  each  other,  uncertain  what  to  do  or 
to  say,  hesitating  as  the  two  children  had  done  so 
long  ago,  when  the  old  rifle  gave  up  its  secret. 
But  this  time  we  did  not  run  away. 

This  time  we  went  up  to  him,  each  with  a 
silent  handclasp.  Then  putting  my  arm  around 
the  bent  old  shoulders  I  held  him  close  for  a  mo 
ment.  He  leaned  against  me  and  reaching  up 
with  his  stiff,  crooked  fingers  gently  patted  my 
hand. 

"Aye,"  he  said  brokenly.  "She's  gone  .  .  . 
but — her  love  abides!  Death  couldn't  take  that 
from  me ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  AFGELS 

IT  was  so  late  when  we  started  home  that  the 
streets  were  deserted.  The  only  noise  was  the 
hollow  sonnd  our  own  footsteps  made  on  the  board 
walk.  Even  that  ceased  the  last  half  of  the  way, 
for  we  crossed  over  and  went  along  the  beach, 
walking  close  to  the  curling  edges  of  the  tide. 
Several  times  we  paused  to  stand  and  look  at  the 
path  the  moon  made  on  the  water — wide  miles  of 
rippling  silver,  like  a  highway  for  the  feet  of 
passing  angels. 

I  kept  thinking  of  Aunt  Elspeth  as  I  looked.  It 
took  away  my  sadness  to  feel  that  she  must  have 
passed  up  that  radiant  road.  And  everything — 
the  white  night  itself — seemed  throbbing  with  the 
words,  "But  Love  abides!  Death  cannot  take 
that." 

I  think  Eichard  heard  them  too,  for  once  as  we 
stood  looking  back  he  said,  "Somehow  that  belief 
of  Uncle  Darcy's  changes  one's  conception  of 
death,  just  as  that  moon  changes  the  night  and 

235 


236       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

the  sea.  It  takes  all  the  blackness  out.  It  gives 
.  .  .  Dad  .  .  .  back  to  me  again.  It  makes  me 
feel  differently  about  saying  goodbye  to  you 
all." 

"I  wish  you  didn't  have  to  say  goodbye,"  I 
exclaimed  impetuously.  "I  wish  that  this  awful 
war  were  over  and  you  could  stay  right  on  here. ' ' 

"Without  my  having  done  my  part  to  win  it?" 
he  asked  in  a  reproachful  sort  of  tone. 

"You've  done  your  part,"  I  told  him.  "And  a 
big  one.  And  I  want  you  to  know  before  you  go 
away  what  we  think  about  it.  Barby  wrote  to 
Miss  Crewes  all  about  what  you  did  up  in  Canada, 
and  said,  'I  am  telling  you  this  in  order  that  you 
may  have  another  Sir  Gareth  to  add  to  your  list 
of  knightly  souls  who  do  their  deed  and  ask  no 
guerdon.'  Ever  since  then  we've  thought  of  you 
as  Sir  Gareth." 

Even  in  the  moonlight  I  could  see  that  he  wras 
embarrassed.  He  protested  that  we  were  giving 
him  more  credit  than  he  deserved.  Then  to  make 
light  of  the  affair  he  went  on  about  how  he  hadn  't 
begun  to  do  his  part.  He  couldn  't  feel  it  was  done 
till  he'd  bombed  at  least  one  Hun.  "A  hundred 
Huns"  was  his  slogan,  and  the  number  he'd  set 
for  himself  to  get. 

.We  started  to  walk  on  again.  I  was  making 
some  teasing  remark  about  his  being  a  blood- 


THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  ANGELS    237 

thirsty  creature,  when  I  stepped  on  the  end  of  a 
broken  oar.  It  turned  with  me  and  almost 
tripped  me  up.  He  put  out  a  steadying  hand, 
then  slipped  my  arm  through  his  to  help  me 
along. 

"I  know  you're  tired,"  he  said  as  we  walked 
on.  "You  had  to  rush  through  all  that  sewing 
this  morning,  and  there  was  the  excitement  of 
the  wedding  and  tonight — the  waiting.  It's  been 
a  hard  day  for  you." 

His  voice  sounded  almost  as  sympathetic  and 
comforting  as  Uncle  Darcy's.  Away  out  across 
the  dunes  some  belated  home-goer  began  whis 
tling.  Clear  and  sweet  the  notes  came  dropping 
through  the  still  night,  as  if  blown  from  a  far- 
off  silver  flute: 

"Till  the  day  when  I'll  be  going  down 
That  long,  long  trail  with  you. ' ' 

Instinctively  we  both  turned  to  look  at  that 
shining  path  on  the  water,  as  if  that  were  the 
trail,  and  stood  listening  till  the  last  whistled  note 
died  away.  Then  suddenly  Richard  put  his  hand 
over  mine  as  it  lay  on  his  arm,  and  held  it  close. 
After  that  there  didn't  seem  to  be  any  need  of 
words.  Somehow  his  very  silence  seemed  to  be 
saying  something  to  me.  I  could  feel  it  thrilling 


238       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

through  me  as  one  violin  string  thrills  to  the 
vibration  of  another. 

I  know  now,  after  the  experience  of  that  night, 
that  I  shall  never  be  able  to  write  the  leading 
novel  of  the  century,  as  I  have  long  hoped  to  do. 
I  shall  never  attempt  one  of  any  kind  now,  even 
a  little  mediocre  one.  And  the  reason  is  this: 

The  greatest  thing  in  the  story  of  any  life  is 
that  moment  of  miracle  when  love  enters  in  and 
transfigures  it.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  the 
coming  of  Dawn  on  a  mountain-top  so  that  an 
other  really  feels  the  glory  of  it.  If  he  has  wit 
nessed  it  himself  anything  one  could  say  seems 
inadequate  and  commonplace.  If  he  has  never 
experienced  such  a  revelation,  all  the  words  in 
the  dictionary  couldn't  help  him  to  see  it. 

If  I  were  to  put  down  here  the  few  words 
Richard  said  as  he  was  leaving  me  at  the  door, 
they  might  seem  incoherent  and  ordinary  to  any 
one  else,  but  uttered  with  his  arms  around  me, 
the  touch  of  his  lips  on  mine — how  could  one  put 
into  any  story  the  sacredness  of  such  an  experi 
ence?  The  wonder  of  it,  the  rapture  of  it?  And 
even  if  you  did  partially  succeed,  there  would 
always  be  people  like  Tippy,  for  instance,  to 
purse  up  their  lips  at  the  attempt,  as  if  to  say, 
"Sentimental!"  So  I  shall  never  try. 

When  Tippy,  in  her  bathrobe  and  with  a  can- 


THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  ANGELS     239 

die,  came  down  the  dark  hall  to  fumble  at  the 
door  and  let  me  in,  I  didn  't  say  a  word.  I  couldn  't. 
I  just  walked  past  her,  so  awed  by  the  throbbing 
happiness  that  filled  me  that  I  couldn't  think  of 
anything  else,  and  not  for  worlds  would  I  have 
had  her  know.  If  it  had  been  Barby  I  would  have 
thrown  my  arms  around  her  and  whispered,  ' '  Oh, 
Barby!  I'm  so  happy!"  and  she  would  have  held 
me  close  and  understood.  But  I  felt  that  Tippy 
would  say,  "Tut,  you're  too  young  to  be  thinking 
of  such  things  yet."  She  has  shamed  me  that 
way,  making  me  feel  that  she  considered  me  a 
sentimental  silly  young  thing,  several  times  in 
the  past. 

"Well!"  she  said  questioningly,  when  I  did  not 
speak.  Her  waiting  attitude  reminded  me  that 
she  was  expecting  me  to  tell  her  something.  Then 
I  remembered — about  Aunt  Elspeth — and  I  was 
conscience-smitten  to  think  I  had  forgotten  her 
entirely.  It  seemed  ages  since  we  had  left  Fish- 
burn  Court,  with  the  sadness  of  her  death  the 
uppermost  thing  in  our  mind,  but  in  reality  it 
hadn't  been  more  than  a  half  an  hour.  But  it 
had  been  long  enough  for  the  beginning  of  "  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth"  for  me. 

My  voice  trembled  so  that  I  could  hardly  speak 
the  words — " She's  gone."  Then  I  saw  that  Tippy 
attributed  my  agitation  to  grief.  She  questioned 


240       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

me  for  details,  but  there  was  little  to  tell.  When 
we  left  no  arrangements  had  been  made  for  the 
funeral. 

''How  did  Uncle  Darcy  take  it?"  she  asked  as 
we  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs.  I  told  her,  re 
peating  his  own  words.  My  voice  shook  again, 
but  this  time  it  was  because  I  was  remembering 
the  stricken  old  figure  on  the  doorstep,  pathetic 
loneliness  in  every  line  of  it,  despite  the  brave 
words  with  which  he  tried  to  comfort  himself.  A 
tear  started  to  roll  down  Tippy's  cheek.  She  made 
a  dab  at  it  with  the  sleeve  of  her  bathrobe. 

"Poor  old  soul!"  she  exclaimed.  "Their  devo 
tion  to  each  other  was  beautiful.  Over  sixty 
years  they've  been  all  in  all  to  each  other.  Pity 
they  both,  couldn't  have  been  taken  at  the  same 
time." 

A  wonder  came  over  me  which  I  have  often 
felt  before.  Why  is  it  that  people  like  Tippy,  who 
show  such  tenderness  for  a  love-story  when  it  is 
flowing  to  its  end  in  old  age,  are  so  unsympathetic 
with  it  at  its  beginning.  What  is  there  about  it 
at  the  source  that  Youth  cannot  understand  or 
should  not  talk  about? 

At  my  door  she  waited  till  I  struck  a  match  and 
lighted  my  lamp.  I  wondered  why  she  held  up 
her  candle  and  gave  me  such  a  keen  glance  as  she 


THE  HIGHWAY  OF  THE  ANGELS     241 

said  goodnight.  When  she  closed  the  door  behind 
her  and  I  walked  over  to  the  dressing-table,  I  was 
suddenly  confronted  by  the  reason.  The  face 
that  looked  out  at  me  from  the  mirror  was  not  the 
face  of  one  who  has  just  looked  on  a  great  sorrow. 
I  was  startled  by  my  own  reflection.  It  had  a 
sort  of  shining,  exalted  look.  I  wondered  what 
she  could  have  thought. 

I  hurried  with  my  undressing  so  that  I  could 
put  out  the  lamp  and  swing  open  the  casement 
window  that  looks  down  on  the  sea.  The  air  came 
cool  and  salt  against  my  hot  cheeks.  The  silver 
radiance  that  flooded  the  harbor  streamed  in 
across  me  as  I  knelt  down  with  my  elbows  on  the 
sill  and  my  hands  folded  to  pray. 

Presently  I  realized  with  a  guilty  start  that  I 
wasn't  following  my  usual  petitions.  I  had 
prayed  only  for  Richard,  and  then,  gazing  down 
on  the  beach  where  we  stood  such  a  short  time 
ago,  I  re-lived  that  moment  and  the  ones  that 
followed.  The  memory  was  as  sacred  as  any 
prayer.  It  was  not  for  its  intrusion  that  my  con 
science  smote  me,  but  it  seemed  wickedly  selfish 
to  be  forgetting  those  whom  I  had  knelt  purposely 
to  remember:  Father  and  Barby,  all  those  in 
peril  on  the  sea,  all  the  victims  of  war  and  the 
brave  souls  everywhere,  fighting  for  the  peace  of 


242       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

the  world.  And  dear  old  Uncle  Darcy — in  the 
very  first  hour  of  his  terrible  loneliness — how 
could  I  forget  to  ask  comfort  for  Mm? 

Stretching  out  my  arms  to  that  shining  space 
above  the  water  I  whispered,  "Dear  God,  is  it 
right  for  me  to  be  so  happy  with  such  awful 
heartache  in  the  world  ?" 

But  no  answer  came  to  me  out  of  that  won 
derful  glory.  All  I  seemed  to  hear  was  Uncle 
Darcy 's  quavering  words — "But  love  abides! 
Death  cannot  take  that!" 

And  presently  as  I  kept  on  kneeling  there  I 
knew  that  was  the  answer:  "Love  that  beareth 
all  things,  hopeth  all  things,  endureth  all  things ' ' 
is  God-given.  Heartache  and  Death  may  touch 
every  life  for  a  time,  but  Love  abides  through  the 
ages. 


CHAPTER  XXI 


PIRATE  GOLD" 


IF  this  were  a  novel  instead  of  my  memoirs, 
I'd  skip  now  to  Richard's  part  of  it,  and  tell  his 
thoughts  and  feelings  as  he  lay  awake  for  hours, 
trying  to  adjust  himself  to  his  new  outlook  on  the 
future.  But  I  didn't  know  about  that  till  after- 
v\*ard.  It  only  came  out  bits  at  a  time  in  the  few 
hours  we  had  together  before  he  went  away.  We 
had  so  little  time  by  ourselves. 

The  thing  that  worried  him  was  the  discovery 
that  he  no  longer  wanted  to  hurry  off  to  the  front. 
He  was  still  as  eager  as  ever  to  do  his  part.  It 
wasn't  that.  It  was  me.  He  told  me  down  at 
Uncle  Darcy's  next  morning.  I  was  staying  there 
until  time  for  the  funeral,  doing  the  little  things 
that  Barby  would  have  done  had  she  been  here. 
Belle  had  gone  home,  worn  out,  and  Tippy  was 
over  there  with  her,  getting  dinner  for  some  of 
the  out-of-town  relatives  who  were  expected  on 
the  noon  train.  It  seemed  as  if  everybody  on  the 
Cape  must  have  sent  flowers.  The  little  house 

243 


244       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

overflowed  with  them.  Richard  helped  me  find 
places  for  them  and  carry  out  the  empty  boxes. 

Uncle  Darcy  was  so  wonderful.  He  went  about 
just  as  usual,  talking  in  cautious  half-whispers  as 
he  always  did  when  Aunt  Elspeth  was  asleep,  tip 
toeing  into  the  darkened  room  now  and  then,  to 
lean  over  and  look  at  her.  Sometimes  he  touched 
her  hair  caressingly,  and  sometimes  smoothed 
down  the  long,  soft  folds  of  her  white  robe.  Once 
when  I  took  in  a  great  basket  full  of  ferns  and 
roses  to  put  on  the  table  beside  her  he  looked  up 
with  a  smile. 

" That's  right,"  he  said.  ''Fix  it  all  nice  and 
pretty  for  her,  Georgina.  Mother  likes  to  have 
things  pretty." 

He  was  so  calm,  and  seemingly  so  oblivious  to 
the  fact  that  she  was  no  longer  conscious  of  his 
presence,  that  we  were  awed  by  his  wonderful 
composure.  So  when  we  were  out  by  the  pump, 
giving  some  of  the  floral  designs  a  fresh  sprin 
kling,  it  did  not  seem  out  of  place  for  Richard  to 
ask  me  if  I  had  told  Uncle  Darcy — about  us.  It 
might  have  seemed  strange  at  any  other  house  of 
mourning  for  us  to  put  our  own  affairs  in  the 
foreground,  but  not  here. 

I  said  no,  I  couldn't  tell  anybody  until  Barby 
knew.  She  must  be  the  very  first.  He  said  all 
right,  if  I  felt  that  way,  but  we'd  have  to  send  a 


" PIRATE  GOLD"  245 

telegram,  because  he  couldn't  go  away  till  he'd 
claimed  me  before  the  footlights  as  well  as  behind 
the  scenes.  I  didn't  see  how  we  could  put  such  a 
thing  in  a  telegram,  but  he  was  so  determined 
that  finally  I  consented  to  try.  Together  we  com 
posed  one  that  we  thought  would  enlighten  Barby, 
and  at  the  same  time  mystify  the  telegraph  op 
erator,  who  happened  to  be  one  of  the  old  High 
School  boys. 

When  the  noon  whistle  blew  Uncle  Darcy's 
composure  suddenly  left  him.  He  looked  around, 
startled  by  the  familiar  sound  as  if  its  shrill  sum 
mons  pierced  him  with  a  realization  of  the  truth. 
It  was  the  signal  for  him  to  wheel  Aunt  Elspeth 
to  the  table ;  to  uncover  the  tray  Belle  always  sent 
in,  to  urge  her  appetite  with  the  same  old  joke 
that  never  lost  its  flavor  to  her.  It  seemed  to  come 
over  him  in  a  terrifying  wave  of  realization  that 
all  that  was  ended.  He  could  never  do  it  again, 
could  never  do  anything  for  her.  He  looked  at 
the  clock  and  then  turned  stricken  eyes  on  me,  ask 
ing  when  they  would  take  her  away.  When  I 
told  him  his  distress  was  pitiful.  It  is  awful  to 
hear  an  old  man  sob. 

It  sent  me  hurrying  from  the  room,  fumbling 
for  my  handkerchief.  Richard  followed  me  and 
put  his  arms  about  me.  The  cheek  pressed  against 
mine  was  wet  too. 


246       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

''Dearest,"  lie  whispered,  "that's  the  way  I 
care  for  you.  That's  what  I  want  to  do — stay 
with  you  to  the  end — be  to  you  all  he's  been  to 
her.  I  can't  go  and  leave  you  with  so  many 
chances  of  never  getting  back  to  you.  I'm  cling 
ing  to  the  few  hours  still  left  to  us  as  desperately 
as  he  is." 

At  the  funeral  that  afternoon,  as  we  stood  to 
gether  on  the  old  burying-ground  on  the  hill, 
listening  to  the  brief  service  at  the  grave,  such  a 
comforting  thought  came  to  me.  It  was  about  the 
mantle  of  Elijah  falling  on  Elisha  as  the  chariot 
of  fire  bore  him  heavenward.  He  dropped  it  in 
token  that  a  double  portion  of  his  spirit  should 
rest  on  the  younger  prophet.  I  felt  that  Richard 
and  I,  in  keeping  vigil  as  the  soul  of  Aunt  Elspeth 
took  its  flight,  had  witnessed  the  earthly  ending 
of  the  most  beautiful  devotion  we  had  ever  known. 
And  its  mantle  had  fallen  on  us.  We  would  go 
down  to  old  age  as  they  had  done.  And  we  surely 
needed  a  double  portion  of  their  spirit,  for  we 
faced  a  long,  uncertain  separation,  beset  by 
danger  and  death.  They  had  gone  all  the  way 
hand  in  hand. 

After  it  was  all  over  and  the  crowd  straggled 
away  we  stayed  behind  with  Uncle  Darcy  for  a 
while,  telling  Dan  and  Belle  we  would  take  him 
home  in  the  machine  when  he  was  ready  to  go. 


"PIRATE  GOLD"  247 

We  left  him  sitting  beside  the  flower-covered 
mound  under  a  scraggly  old  pine,  and  strolled  off 
to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Eichard  asked  me  if  I  re 
membered  that  the  very  first  day  we  ever  saw  each 
other  he  brought  me  out  to  this  old  burying- 
ground.  He  dared  me  to  slip  in  through  the 
picket  fence  and  touch  ten  tombstones  to  test  my 
courage.  And  after  I  'd  touched  them  I  went  tear 
ing  down  the  hill  with  eyes  as  big  as  saucers,  to 
tell  him  there  was  a  whole  row  of  pirates'  graves 
up  there,  with  a  skull  and  cross  bones  on  each 
headstone,  and  how  disappointed  we  wrere  when 
we  found  out  that  they  were  only  early  settlers. 

And  I  asked  him  if  he  remembered  that  the 
first  compliment  he  ever  paid  me  was  that  same 
day  on  our  way  home.  I  was  so  stuck  up  over  it 
I  never  forgot  it.  It  was,  "You're  a  partner 
worthing  having.  You've  got  a  head." 

He  said  yes  our  partnership  dated  from  that 
very  first  day.  It  certainly  was  a  deep-rooted 
affair.  Then  I  told  him  the  lovely  thought  that 
had  come  to  me  about  the  mantle  of  those  two 
old  lovers  falling  on  our  shoulders,  and  he  reached 
out  and  took  my  hand  in  the  gentlest  way,  and 
said  that  all  that  they  had  been  to  one  another 
we'd  be  to  each  other,  and  more.  And  then  we 
sat  there  on  the  hillside  talking  in  low  tones  and 
watching  the  wind  from  the  harbor  blowing 


248       GEORGINA'S  SEKVICE  STARS 

through  the  long  sedge  grass,  till  it  was  time  to 
take  Uncle  Darcy  home. 

He  was  ready  to  go  when  we  went  down  to  him. 
On  the  way  home  he  talked  about  Aunt  Elspeth  in 
the  most  wonderful  way,  as  if  he'd  been  up  in 
some  high  place  where  he  could  look  down  on  life 
as  God  does  and  see  how  short  the  earth  part  of 
it  is.  He  said  '  *  'Twould  be  a  sin  to  fret  for  her. ' ' 
That  she  was  safe  in  port  now  and  he'd  soon 
follow.  He  was  so  glad  that  she  wasn't  the  one 
to  be  left  behind.  She'd  have  been  so  helpless 
without  him. 

On  the  way  home  to  supper  we  noticed  an  un 
usual  number  of  boats  putting  into  the  harbor. 
The  sky  was  overcast  and  the  wind  was  rising.  It 
was  a  disappointment  because  we  'd  planned  for  a 
moonlight  row.  We  could  see  at  a  glance  there 
wasn't  going  to  be  any  moonlight.  When  we 
reached  the  house  we  found  that  Miss  Susan 
Triplett  was  there.  She  had  come  back  to  town 
for  the  funeral  and  was  going  to  stay  all  night 
with  us. 

My  heart  sank  when  I  thought  of  one  of  our 
last  precious  evenings  being  interrupted  by  her. 
She  always  takes  the  centre  of  the  stage  wherever 
she  is.  But  to  my  unbounded  surprise  Tippy  took 
Miss  Susan  upstairs  with  her  after  supper,  to 
help  her  spread  the  batting  in  a  quilt  that  she  was 


"PIE  ATE  GOLD"  249 

getting  ready  to  pnt  in  the  quilting  frames.     It 
took  them  till  bedtime. 

Eichard  vowed  Tippy  took  her  off  purposely, 
out  of  pure  goodness  of  heart,  knowing  that  we 
wanted  to  be  alone.  I  was  positive  that  if  she  had 
thought  that,  or  even  suspected  it,  she  wouldn't 
have  budged  an  inch.  She  wouldn't  approve  of 
my  being  engaged.  But  Eichard  insisted  that  she 
was  chuck  full  of  sentiment  herself,  in  spite  of 
her  apparent  scorn  of  it,  and  that  she  not  only 
suspected  which  way  the  wind  was  blowing,  but 
knew  it  positively. 

We  didn't  have  any  difference  of  opinion  about 
what  Barby  would  say,  however.  So  I  did  not 
feel  that  I  had  to  wait  for'  an  answer  to  our  tele 
gram  before  I  let  him  slip  the  ring  on  my  finger 
which  he  brought  for  me.  It 's  a  beautiful  soltaire 
in  a  quaint  Florentine  setting. 

"It's  the  one  Dad  gave  mother,"  he  said,  "but 
if  you'd  rather  have  it  in  a  modern  setting " 

I  love  the  tone  of  his  voice  when  he  says  "Dad" 
that  way,  and  I  wouldn  't  have  the  setting  changed 
if  it  had  been  as  ugly  as  sin,  instead  of  what  it  is, 
the  most  artistic  one  I  ever  saw. 

It  was  blowing  hard  when  he  left  the  house. 
The  waves  were  lashing  angrily  against  the  break 
water.  We  knew  the  fishermen  must  be  expecting 
a  storm.  The  night  was  so  black  we  couldn't  see 


250       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

the  fleets  they  had  brought  in,  but  the  harbor  was 
full  of  lights,  hundreds  of  them  gleaming  from 
the  close-reefed  boats  lying  at  anchor. 

It  was  not  until  late  in  the  night  that  the  storm 
struck.  Then  a  terrific  wind  swept  the  Cape. 
Shutters  banged  and  windows  rattled.  The  house 
itself  shook  at  times,  and  now  and  then  sand 
struck  the  window  panes  even  of  the  second  story, 
as  if  thrown  against  them  in  giant  handfuls. 
Once  there  was  a  crash,  and  a  big  limb  of  the  old 
willow  went  down.  It  has  been  years  since  we 
have  had  such  a  storm.  Part  of  the  willow  went 
down  that  time. 

Lying  there  unable  to  sleep  I  recalled  that  other 
storm.  I  could  remember  distinctly  old  Jeremy's 
coming  in  next  morning  to  report  the  damage,  and 
saying  it  was  so  wild  it  was  a  wonder  the  dunes 
hadn't  all  blown  into  the  sea.  Some  of  them  had. 
Captain  Ames '  cranberry  bog  was  buried  so  deep 
in  sand  you  couldn't  see  a  leaf  of  it,  and  there 
was  sand  drifted  over  everything,  as  if  a  cyclone 
had  swirled  through  the  dunes,  lifting  them  bodily 
and  scattering  them  over  the  face  of  the  earth. 

I  had  cause  to  remember  that  storm.  It  buried 
still  deeper  the  little  pouch  of  "pirate  gold" 
which  Richard  and  I  had  buried  temporarily,  and 
we  had  never  been  able  to  find  it  since.  For  days 
we  dug  with  a  hoe  and  the  brass-handled  fire 


"PIRATE  GOLD"  251 

shovel,  trying  to  unearth  it,  but  even  the  markers 
we  had  set  above  it  never  came  to  light. 

Lying  there  in  the  dark  I  could  remember  ex 
actly  how  Richard  looked  then,  in  his  little  grass- 
stained  white  suit  with  a  hole  in  the  knee  of  his 
stocking.  What  a  dear  little  dare-devil  he  was 
in  those  days,  always  coming  to  grief  with  his 
clothes,  because  of  his  thirst  for  adventure.  All 
through  the  storm  I  lay  thinking  about  him.  I 
am  so  glad  that  I  have  those  memories  of  him 
as  a  boy  to  add  to  my  knowledge  of  him  as  a  man. 
If  I  knew  him  only  as  I  have  known  him  since  his 
return,  a  handsome  young  officer  in  his  immacu 
late  uniform  and  with  his  fascinating  ways,  I'd 
be  afraid  I  was  being  attracted  by  his  outward 
charm,  and  might  be  disillusioned  some  day  as  I 
was  about  Esther. 

But  in  all  the  years  we've  been  growing  tip  to 
gether  I've  had  time  to  learn  every  one  of  his 
faults  and  short-comings.  Though  I've  frankly 
told  him  of  them  in  times  past  for  his  own  good, 
I  realize  now  that  he  never  had  as  many  as  most 
boys,  and  he  has  outgrown  the  few  he  did  have. 
I  wouldn't  have  him  changed  now  in  any  way 
whatever. 

An  attachment  like  ours  that  blossoms  out  of 
such  a  long  and  intimate  acquaintance  must  have 
deeper  roots  than  one  like  Babe's  and  Watson's. 


252       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

Theirs  hasn't  any  background,  any  past  tense. 
Babe  married  him  without  having  seen  a  single 
member  of  his  family  nearer  than  cousins,  which 
is  an  awful  risk,  I  think.  Suppose  one  of  his  next 
of  kin  were  a  miser  or  a  fanatic,  and  the  same 
traits  would  crop  out  in  him  later  in  life.  Know 
ing  Richard's  father  as  I  did  makes  me  feel  that 
I  know  Richard  in  the  future  tense.  They  are  so 
much  alike.  He'll  always  keep  that  sense  of 
humor  which  was  one  of  Mr.  Moreland's  charms, 
and  the  same  feeling  for  things  with  old  happy 
associations,  like  my  ring. 

When  I  thought  of  that  adorable  ring  I  just 
couldn't  wait  till  morning  to  see  it  again.  Reach 
ing  for  the  little  pocket  flashlight  which  I  keep 
on  the  stand  beside  my  bed,  I  sat  up  and  flashed 
it  on  the  stone,  turning  it  in  every  possible  direc 
tion  to  see  it  sparkle.  It  was  much  more  daz 
zling  under  the  electric  light  than  it  had  been 
under  the  lamp.  I  wondered  if  it  made  Richard's 
mother  as  happy  when  she  wore  it  as  it  makes 
me.  I  wondered  if  she  ever  sat  up  in  the  dark 
to  admire  it  as  I  was  doing,  and  what  she  would 
think  if  she  could  see  me  press  it  to  my  lips  in 
the  consciousness  that  it  is  the  precious  link 
which  binds  me  to  Richard.  I  don't  believe  she 
would  think  it  silly.  She  would  be  glad  that  I 
care  so  much — so  very  much. 


"  PIE  ATE  GOLD"  253 

Next  morning  Richard  was  over  early  to  take 
me  out  with  him  to  see  how  much  damage  the 
storm  had  done.  The  beach  was  strewn  with 
wreckage,  trees  were  uprooted  on  every  street, 
and  roofs  and  chimneys  had  suffered  all  over 
town.  But  the  strangest  thing  was  that  we  found 
our  little  pouch  of  pirate  gold.  It  was  like  the  sea 
giving  up  its  dead  for  the  dunes  to  give  up  the 
treasure  we'd  buried  in  it  so  long  ago.  We  hadn't 
the  faintest  expectation  of  such  a  thing  when  we 
started  out;  merely  thought  we'd  go  over  for  a 
look  at  the  place  where  it  was  buried. 

When  we  ploughed  through  the  sand  to  the 
fringe  of  bayberry  bushes  and  wild  beach  plums 
that  was  our  landmark,  we  found  that  the  last 
storm  had  undone  the  work  of  that  first  one.  It 
had  scooped  out  the  sand  and  left  a  hollow  as  it 
used  to  be  years  ago.  Even  then  we  hadn't  any 
thought  of  really  finding  the  money,  but  Captain 
Kidd  was  along,  and  just  to  give  him  some  excite 
ment  Richard  called  "Rats!" 

That  started  him  to  digging  frantically,  and  the 
first  thing  that  flew  out  from  under  his  paws  was 
one  of  the  pieces  of  broken  crock  which  we  had 
used  as  a  marker.  Then  we  tried  him  in  other 
places,  poking  around  ourselves  with  sticks,  and 
presently  he  gave  a  short  bark  and  stopped  dig 
ging,  to  nose  something  else  he  had  unearthed. 


It  actually  was  the  old  baking-powder  can.  It  was 
almost  eaten  up  with  rust,  and  the  names  and 
date  we  had  scratched  on  it  were  almost  illegible. 
But  everything  inside  was  intact. 

I  watched  Eichard's  face  as  he  unrolled  layer 
after  layer  of  tin  foil  that  was  wrapped  around 
the  pouch,  and  thought  again  how  nice  it  was  that 
I  shared  his  memories.  I  could  understand  the 
smile  that  curved  his  lips,  for  I  knew  the  scenes 
that  tin  foil  brought  back  to  him.  He  had  been 
weeks  saving  it. 

"Off  Dad's  tobacco,"  was  all  he  said.  But 
more  than  once  I  had  climbed  the  Green  Stairs 
up  the  cliff  to  the  bungalow  in  time  to  see  the 
laughing  scuffle  which  invariably  took  place  be 
fore  it  was  handed  over  to  him.  They  had  been 
rare  play-fellows,  he  and  his  father. 

In  the  pouch  was  the  letter,  the  black  rubber 
ring,  the  handful  of  change.  ''We'll  pass  all  that 
over  to  Dan,"  I  said,  "but  the  gold  we'll  divide 
and  gloat  over." 

But  Eichard  insisted  that  it  shouldn't  be  di 
vided.  He  wanted  to  take  it  down  to  the  Arts  and 
Crafts  shop  and  have  it  made  into  a  ring  for  me. 
Just  a  little  circle,  that  I  could  wear  as  a  guard 
for  the  other  one.  I  wanted  half  of  it  made  into 
some  token  for  him  "to  have  and  to  hold"  but 
we  couldn't  think  of  anything  suitable.  He 


" PIRATE  GOLD"  255 

wouldn't  wear  a  ring  himself,  and  there  wasn't 
time  to  make  a  locket.  There's  so  little  that  a 
soldier  going  abroad  can  carry  with  him. 

It  was  the  artist  who  does  the  lovely  jewel 
work  at  the  Shop  who  settled  the  question.  We 
had  to  take  her  partly  into  our  confidence  in  order 
to  show  her  how  necessary  it  was  to  have  the 
keepsake  done  before  Richard's  departure.  She 
was  dear  about  it,  and  so  thrilled  with  the  romance 
of  the  affair  that  she  said  she'd  sit  up  all  night 
if  necessary  to  finish  it.  Yes,  she  understood 
perfectly,  she  said.  She  would  melt  the  two  gold 
pieces  together,  and  out  of  part  would  fashion  the 
ring,  just  a  little  twist  of  a  lover's  knot,  and  out 
of  the  rest — well,  why  not  an  identification  tag? 
The  gentleman  would  have  to  wear  one  anyhow, 
and,  being  an  officer  could  have  it  of  gold  if  he 
wished. 

Richard  liked  the  idea  immensely,  but  it  gave 
me  a  gruesome  feeling  at  first.  There  would  be 
no  need  of  identification  tags,  were  it  not  that 
possible  death  and  wounds  and  capture  face 
every  man  who  wears  one.  Besides  it  seemed  such 
a  cold-blooded  sort  of  token  to  give  to  one's  best 
beloved,  just  starting  off  to  the  Field  of  Honor. 
About  as  romantic  as  a  trunk  check. 

But  suddenly  I  thought  of  something  which 
made  me  agree  instantly.  There  was  a  mame 


256       GEOBGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

which  I  could  have  engraved  upon  the  reverse 
side,  which  would  make  the  little  tag  seem  almost 
like  a  decoration,  in  commemoration  of  a  noble 
deed.  I  managed  to  write  it  down  and  slip  it  to 
the  artist  without  Richard's  seeing  it. 

Now  whenever  he  looks  at  it  he  will  remember 
it  is  the  name  I  call  him  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 
He  will  know  that  I  think  of  him  as  my  true 
knight,  as  worthy  of  a  royal  accolade  as  any  of 
those  who  fared  forth  in  Arthur's  time  to  redress 
the  wrongs  of  the  world.  He  is  my  "Sir  Gareth." 


CHAPTER  XXH 

"THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS  HER  WARRIOR'S  SASH" 

I  COULDN'T  tell  Tippy.  The  way  we  did  I  just 
handed  her  Barby's  night  letter  without  a  word 
and  Richard  gave  her  his.  She  read  them  with 
no  more  change  of  expression  than  if  they'd  been 
weather  reports.  Then  she  said  that  she  'd  known 
it  all  along.  A  wooden  Indian  couldn't  have  been 
less  demonstrative,  but  later  I  found  that  nothing 
could  have  pleased  her  more. 

Richard  says  she  can't  help  being  born  a 
Plymouth  Rock.  She's  like  an  ice-bound  brook 
that  can't  show  the  depth  and  force  underlying 
the  surface  coldness.  But  her  tenderness  leaked 
out  for  us  both  afterwards,  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
and  I  began  to  understand  her  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life. 

She  watched  me  take  down  the  service  flag  in 
the  window  and  replace  it  with  one  bearing  two 
stars,  and  I'm  sure  she  read  my  thoughts.  She's 
always  had  an  uncanny  way  of  doing  that.  I  was 
thinking  how  much  harder  it  was  to  put  up  that 

257 


second  star  than  the  first  one,  because  I  hadn't 
really  given  Father  to  the  service.  He  was  in  it 
before  I  was  born.  But  the  second  star  was  the 
symbol  of  a  real  sacrifice  that  I  was  laying  on  the 
altar  of  my  country.  There  was  no  laughing  this 
time,  or  joking  suggestion  to  make  a  ceremony 
of  it.  I  felt  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart  what  I 
was  doing,  and  did  it  in  reverent  silence. 

Soon  after  she  followed  me  to  my  room  and 
laid  a  couple  of  books  on  the  table,  open  at  the 
places  marked  for  me  to  read.  I  smiled  after  she 
went  out  when  I  saw  that  one  was  an  antiquated 
volume  of  poems.  All  my  life  she  has  tried  to 
teach  me  morals  and  manners  by  the  aid  of  such 
verse  as  "The  boy  stood  on  the  burning  deck" 
and  ' '  Fie !  What  a  naughty  child  to  pout. ' ?  So 
I  picked  up  the  books  wondering  what  lesson  she 
thought  I  needed  now.  The  poem  she  marked  was 
"The  Maid  who  binds  her  Warrior's  sash."  As 
I  read  I  understood.  Dear  old  Tippy!  It  was 
courage  she  would  teach  me. 

Kichard  was  right.  She  couldn't  say  these 
things  to  me,  so  she  brought  me  the  words  of  an 
other  to  help  me,  knowing  the  lesson  would  soon 
be  sorely  needed.  The  other  book  was  a  new  one 
she  had  just  drawn  from  the  library,  the  adven 
tures  of  a  young  gunner  in  the  Navy.  He  had 


"THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS "       259 

won  the  Croix  de  Guerre  for  distinguished  service 
and  escaped  the  horrors  of  a  German  prison  camp, 
so  he  knew  what  he  was  talking  about  when  he 
wrote  the  words  she  left  for  me  to  read. 

"When  you  say  goodbye  to  your  son  or  your 
husband  or  your  sweetheart,  take  it  from  me  that 
what  he  will  like  to  remember  the  best  of  all  is 
your  face  with  a  smile  on  it.  It  will  be  hard 
work;  you  will  feel  more  like  crying  and  so  will 
he,  maybe.  That  smile  is  your  bit.  I  will  back  a 
smile  against  the  weeps  in  a  race  to  Berlin  any 
time.  So  I  am  telling  you,  and  I  can't  make  it 
strong  enough — sznd  him  away  with  a  smile." 

This  is  the  verse : 
9 

"The  maid,  who  binds  her  warrior's  sash 
With  smile,  which  well  the  pain  dissembles, 
The  while,  beneath  the  drooping  lash, 
One  starry  tear-drop  hangs  and  trembles, 
Though  heaven  alone  record  the  tear 
And  fame  shall  never  know  her  story, 
Her  heart  has  shed  a  drop  as  dear 
As  ever  dewed  the  field  of  glory." 

I  didn't  realize  then  how  hard  it  was  going  to 
be  to  live  up  to  those  quotations,  but  Tippy,  with 
so  much  of  her  life  behind  her  full  of  its  hard 


260       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

lessons — Tippy  knew  and  took  this  mute  way  of 
warning  me. 

The  storm  did  us  a  good  turn  in  more  ways 
than  unearthing  our  buried  treasure.  It  brought 
such  cold  weather  in  its  wake  that  when  we  came 
in  glowing  from  a  tramp  along  shore  just  before 
supper,  we  found  a  jolly  big  fire  waiting  for  us 
in  the  living-room.  Such  a  one,  Richard  said,  as 
would  warm  him  many  a  time,  thinking  of  it, 
nights  when  he  was  miles  up  in  the  air,  numb  as 
the  North  Pole. 

We  had  such  a  long  cosy  evening  afterward, 
there  in  the  firelight. 

"We'll  have  it  just  like  this  in  our  own  little 
home  when  I  get  back,"  Richard  kept  saying. 
We  planned  the  dearest  house.  We  decided  to 
make  his  Cousin  James  sell  us  his  bungalow 
studio,  not  only  because  the  Green  Stairs  run 
ning  up  the  cliff  to  it  is  the  place  where  we  first 
saw  each  other  when  we  were  infants,  but  be 
cause  it's  such  an  artistic  place,  and  has  such  a 
wonderful  view  of  the  sea.  It's  a  place  far  too 
delightful  to  be  wasted  on  a  single  person,  even 
such  a  nice  old  bachelor  as  his  Cousin  James. 

We  even  planned  what  we'd  have  for  our  first 
breakfast  when  we  started  to  housekeeping,  with 
Aunt  Georgina's  coffee  urn  shining  at  one  end 
of  the  table  and  an  old  beaten-silver  chop  dish, 


"THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS "        261 

that  is  one  of  Bichard's  memories  of  their  studio 
days  in  Paris,  at  the  other. 

"If  I  could  only  see  that  picture  in  reality  be 
fore  I  go!"  Richard  exclaimed — "if  I  could  only 
sit  down  at  that  table  once  with  you  across  from 
me,  and  know  that  it  was  my  home  and  my  little 
wife " 

Then  he  confessed  that  he  wanted  to  take  back 
everything  he'd  said  about  Watson  and  war  wed 
dings.  He  believed  in  'em  now  and  couldn't  I, 

wouldn't  I ?  But  without  waiting  to  finish 

the  question  he  hurried  on  to  answer  it  himself. 
No,  he  mustn't  ask  it.  He  wouldn't.  It  wouldn't 
be  fair  to  me,  young  as  I  was,  with  Barby  gone, 
nor  to  her.  But  if  he  could  only  feel  that  I  really 
belonged  to  him 

I  told  him  I  didn't  see  how  rushing  through  a 
whirlwind  ceremony  as  Babe  did  could  make  us 
feel  we  belonged  to  each  other  any  more  than 
we  already  did,  and  I  couldn't  do  it  without  Barby, 
but  we  could  say  the  betrothal  part  to  each  other, 
and  that  would  make  him  feel  that  we  were  al 
most  married.  So  we  hunted  it  up  in  the  prayer 
book  and  each  repeated  the  part  that  says,  "I  take 
thee  .  .  .  from  this  day  forward  ...  to  love  and 
to  cherish  .  .  .  and  thereto  I  plight  thee  my 
troth." 

But  after  we  said  it  I  couldn't  see  that  it  made 


262       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAKS 

the  thought  of  parting  any  easier.  Really  it 
seemed  even  harder  after  we  'd  solemnly  promised 
ourselves  to  each  other  that  way. 

After  a  while  he  said  there  were  several  things 
he  wanted  to  speak  of  before  he  went  away.  One 
was  that  his  Cousin  James  has  all  his  belongings 
in  charge.  Among  them  is  a  beautiful  old  Vene 
tian  jewel  casket  with  his  mother 's  rings  and 
necklaces  and  things  in  it.  His  Cousin  James 
understands  that  everything  in  it  is  to  be  mine 
and  he  hoped  that  I'd  wear  them  sometimes — 

even  if — in  any  event He  didn't  go  on  to  say 

even  if  what,  but  the  unfinished  sentence  filled  me 
with  its  unspoken  dread,  more  than  if  he  'd  really 
said  it. 

After  a  long  silence  he  said  lightly  that  there 
was  some  satisfaction  in  the  thought  that  I'd 
always  be  comfortably  provided  for  no  matter 
what  happened,  and  that  I  could  have  the  bun 
galow  and  the  motor-boat  and  all  the  other  things 
we  'd  planned.  He  'd  made  his  will  the  day  before 
and  his  Cousin  James  had  promised  to  see  it  was 
carried  out  in  every  detail. 

At  the  thought  of  what  his  speech  implied  and 
the  mere  idea  of  me  having  or  doing  any  of  those 
lovely  things  without  him,  I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer.  I  simply  hid  my  face  in  the  sofa  cushions 
and  let  the  dykes  wash  out  to  sea.  It  must  have 


''THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS "        263 

broken  him  up  somewhat  himself,  to  see  the  way 
I  took  it,  for  his  voice  was  shaky  when  he  tried 
to  comfort  me.  But  it  was  so  dear  and  tender, 
just  like  Uncle  Darcy's  that  time  he  kept  saying, 
"There's  naught  to  fear  lass,  Dan'l's  holding 
you."  Every  word  only  made  me  cry  that  much 
harder. 

Presently  he  cleared  his  throat  and  asked  if  I 
supposed  there  was  any  powder  left  in  the  old 
powder  horn  over  the  mantel,  and  did  I  remember 
the  time  we  fed  some  to  Captain  Kidd  to  make 
him  game.  He'd  confess  now,  after  all  these 
years,  he  ate  some  himself  that  day  when  I  wasn't 
looking,  but  its  effect  was  about  worn  off  by  this 
time,  and  if  I  kept  on  that  way  much  longer  he  'd 
have  to  have  another  nip  at  that  old  horn  or  go  to 
pieces  himself. 

I  sat  up  then  and  laug.hed,  despite  the  big, 
gulpy  sobs  that  nearly  choked  me.  For  I  had  to 
tell  him  that  I'd  eaten  some  of  that  powder  my 
self  that  same  time.  I  licked  it  out  of  the  palm  of 
my  hand  when  his  back  was  turned.  And  if  the 
powder  had  lost  its  effect  on  me  the  horn  itself 
hadn't.  The  mere  mention  of  it  made  me  stiffen. 
Hereafter  I'd  be  just  as  brave  as  that  old  Eevo- 
lutionary  grandmother  of  mine  who  snatched  it 
from  the  wall  with  the  musket,  and  hustled  her 
Minute  Man  off  with  the  one  grim  word, ' '  Hurry ! ' ' 


264       GEOBGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

I  promised  him  that  hereafter  he  shouldn't  see 
me  shed  another  drop.  And  he  didn't. 

Mr.  Milf ord  came  up  for  me  early  next  morning 
to  take  me  down  to  the  station  to  see  Eichard  off. 
Maybe  it  was  because  I  had  had  that  spell  of  wild 
weeps  the  night  before,  that  I  felt  like  the-morn- 
ing-after-a-storm,  all  cleared  up  and  shiney.  At 
any  rate  I  sent  him  off  laughing.  He  looked  so 
fit  and  so  fine,  starting  off  on  his  great  adventure 
like  some  knight  of  old,  that  I  told  him  I  pined  to 
go  along;  that  under  the  circumstances  I'd  gladly 
change  places  with  him.  I?d  much  rather  be 
Bichard  Moreland  than  G.  Huntingdon. 

But  he  said  right  before  his  Cousin  James  that 
he'd  much  rather  I'd  be  Mrs.  Bichard  Moreland. 
It  was  my  blushing  so  furiously  at  hearing  that 
name  applied  to  me  for  the  first  time  which  made 
him  laugh.  Then  there  was  only  time  to  be  caught 
up  in  a  good-bye  embrace  before  the  train  pulled 
out.  He  swung  himself  up  on  the  rear  platform 
just  as  it  started.  He  did  look  so  handsome  and 
so  dear  and  I  was  so  proud  of  him  in  his  khaki 
that  there  was  nothing  forced  in  the  last  smile  I 
gave  him.  It  was  the  real  spangled-bannery  kind ; 
such  as  shines  in  your  eyes  when  the  band  plays 
martial  music  and  the  troops  march  by.  Your 
heart  beats  awfully  fast  and  you  hold  your 


"THE  MAID  WHO  BINDS "       265 

breath,  but  you  have  the  feeling  that  in  your  soul 
you  are  one  of  the  color  bearers  yourself.  You 
are  keeping  step  with  your  head  held  high. 

Afterwards  when  Mr.  Milford  helped  me  into 
the  machine  he  said,  "Georgina,  you're  a  trump. 
You  wear  your  service  stars  in  your  eyes." 

When  I  looked  at  him  questioningly,  wondering 
what  he  meant,  he  said,  "Oh,  I  know  they're 
brown,  not  blue,  but  you  showed  my  boy  the  star 
of  'true  blue'  courage  in  them,  and  I  was  horribly 
afraid  for  a  few  minutes  there  that  maybe  you 
wouldn't." 

He  talked  about  service  flags  all  the  way  home, 
for  we  kept  coming  across  them  in  the  windows 
in  every  street.  Over  two  hundred  men  have  gone 
out  from  this  little  fishing  town.  When  I  told  him 
how  I  felt  that  way,  about  "keeping  step,"  he  said 
he  wished  I  could  make  some  other  people  he  knew 
feel  the  same  way. 

"There's  poor  Mrs.  Carver,  for  instance,  cry 
ing  her  eyes  out  over  Titcomb  and  Sammy  HE, 
and  talking  as  if  she 's  the  only  mother  in  the  world 
who's  sacrificing  anything.  If  you  could  suggest 
that  those  boys  would  be  a  bit  prouder  of  her  if 
she  could  keep  step  with  the  rest  of  the  mothers, 
make  her  sacrifice  with  her  head  up,  it  would  do 
her  a  world  of  good.  She  mustn't  fly  service  stars 


266       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

in  her  window  unless  she  can  back  them  on  the 
inside  with  the  same  true  blue  courage  they  stand 
for  on  the  outside — the  kind  that  sends  the  men 
to  the  front." 


CHAPTER  XXin 

MARKED   OST   THE   CALENDAR 

IT'S  queer  what  a  way  Doctor  Wynne  has  of 
stepping  abruptly  into  my  life  and  out  again.  It 's 
been  so  ever  since  I  found  his  picture  in  the  bar 
rel.  A  few  days  after  Eichard  left  he  unexpect 
edly  opened  the  front  gate  and  came  up  to  the 
porch  where  Tippy  and  I  sat  knitting.  I  did  not 
recognize  him  at  first  in  his  captain's  uniform, 
and  no  one  could  have  been  further  from  my 
thoughts.  I  supposed  he  had  already  sailed  for 
France. 

Some  business  with  old  Mr.  Carver,  who  is  giv 
ing  an  ambulance  to  the  Red  Cross,  brought  him 
to  Provincetown,  and,  happening  to  hear  that 
Miss  Susan  Triplett  was  at  our  house,  he  came  up 
to  say  goodbye  to  her  before  starting  to  join  the 
unit  to  which  he's  been  assigned.  He  was  dis 
appointed  when  he  found  that  Miss  Susan  had 
gone  back  to  Wellfleet.  He  said  she  was  one  of 
the  few  people  left  who  had  known  his  family 

267 


268       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

intimately,  and  who  remembered  him  as  a  child. 
It  gave  him  a  sense  of  kinship  to  have  her  call 
him  "  Johnny "  in  a  world  where  everyone  else 
said  "Doctor." 

That  was  enough  for  Tippy.  In  her  opinion 
any  man  in  khaki  is  entitled  to  all  the  * '  sugar  and 
spice  and  everything  nice"  the  world  can  give. 
When  she  found  that  he  has  no  home  ties  now, 
she  adopted  him  on  the  spot.  He  didn't  know  he 
was  being  adopted,  but  I  did,  just  from  the  posi 
tive  tone  of  her  voice.  She  told  him  her  claim  on 
him  was  about  as  old  as  Susan's.  She'd  known 
him  when  he  was  a  bald-headed  baby — held  him 
in  her  arms  in  this  very  house,  and  sat  under  his 
father 's  preaching  many  a  time  in  Wellfleet.  And 
indeed  he'd  stay  to  supper.  He  needn't  think 
she  'd  let  a  son  of  Sister  Wynne 's  leave  the  house 
without  breaking  bread  with  her,  especially  when 
he  was  starting  off  to  a  far  country  where  he  was 
liable  to  get  nothing  but  husks. 

If  what  Tippy  wanted  was  to  give  him  a  little 
slice  of  home  to  pack  up  and  take  away  in  his 
"old  kit  bag,"  she  certainly  succeeded.  It  will 
be  many  a  moon  before  he  can  forget  the  table  she 
spread  for  him,  the  advice  she  gave  him  and  the 
sock  she  hurried  to  "toe  off"  in  order  that  there 
might  be  a  full  half  dozen  in  the  package  she 
thrust  upon  him  at  parting.  An  own  aunt  could 


MARKED  ON  THE  CALENDAR      269 

not  have  been  more  solicitous  for  his  comfort,  and 
she  did  all  but  call  him  Johnny. 

It's  the  first  time  I  ever  had  any  conversation 
with  him  more  than  a  sentence  or  two.  Now  as 
he  ''reminisced"  with  Tippy,  and  told  experiences 
of  his  boyhood  on  a  Western  farm  and  of  his 
medical  student  days,  I  saw  that  the  real  John 
Wynne  was  not  the  person  I  imagined  him  to  be. 

What  a  sentimental  little  goose  I  must  have 
been  at  sixteen;  truly  "green  in  judgment"  to 
have  woven  such  a  fabric  of  dreams  around  him. 
Miss  Crewes'  story  started  it,  putting  him  on  a 
sort  of  pedestal,  and  the  affair  with  Esther  added 
to  it,  till  I  imagined  him  a  romantic  and  knightly 
figure,  "wrapped  in  the  solitude"  of  a  sad  and 
patient  melancholy.  The  real  John  Wynne  is  a 
busy,  matter-of-fact  physician,  absorbingly  inter 
ested  in  the  war  and  keen  to  be  into  it,  also  ready 
to  talk  about  anything  from  "cabbages  to  kings." 
Yet  I  suppose  if  anyone  had  told  me  then  that  I 
was  mistaken  in  that  early  estimate  of  him  I 
would  have  resented  it.  I  wanted  him  to  fit  the 
role  I  assigned  him.  It  made  him  more  interest 
ing  to  my  callow  mind  to  imagine  him  like  that 
king  in  the  poem  when, — "The  barque  which  held 
the  prince  went  down  he  never  smiled  again." 

He  was  so  warmly  interested  in  my  account  of 
finding  his  picture  at  that  auction  and  keeping  it 


270      GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

all  these  years,  that  I  took  him  across  the  hall  to 
look  at  it.  The  thought  came  to  me  that  maybe 
he'd  like  to  have  it,  but  when  I  offered  it  to  him 
he  said  no,  he  had  a  more  recent  one  of  his  mother, 
one  more  like  her  as  he  remembered  her.  He 
stood  looking  at  it  a  long  while  and  finally  said 
it  seemed  so  much  at  home  there  on  the  wall  that 
he  hoped  I'd  keep  it  there.  It  would  sort  of 
anchor  him  to  the  old  Cape  to  look  back  and  know 
that  it  was  hanging  in  the  very  room  where  they 
had  once  been  together.  Then  he  added  almost 
wistfully : 

"If  she  were  here  to  wish  me  Godspeed,  I  could 
go  away  better  equipped,  perhaps,  for  what  lies 
ahead." 

Some  sudden  impulse  prompted  me  to  open  the 
table  drawer  and  take  out  the  little  service  flag 
with  the  one  star  which  I  had  thrust  in  there  when 
I  put  up  the  new  one.  As  I  hung  it  under  the 
picture  I  was  surprised  to  hear  myself  saying, 
"See!  She  does  wish  you  Godspeed." 

It  was  exactly  as  if  someone  else  put  the  words 
into  my  mouth,  for  I  had  never  thought  of  them 
before,  and  I'm  sure  I  never  quoted  Scripture  that 
way  before,  outside  of  Sunday  school.  It  gave 
me  the  queerest  sensation  to  be  doing  it  as  if 
some  force  outside  of  myself  were  impelling  me 
to  speak. 


MARKED  ON  THE  CALENDAR      271 

"Don't  you  suppose,"  I  said  slowly,  "that  if 
God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  could  give  His 
only  son  to  die  for  it,  that  he  must  know  how 
human  fathers  and  mothers  feel  when  they  do  the 
same  thing?  Don't  you  believe  that  He'd  let  a 
mother,  even  up  in  heaven,  have  some  way  to  com 
fort  and  help  a  son  who  was  offering  his  life  to 
save  the  world?  The  men  in  the  trenches  can't 
see  the  stars  we  hang  out  for  them  here  at  home, 
but  they  feel  our  spirit  of  helpfulness  flowing 
out  to  them.  How  do  we  know  that  the  windows 
of  heaven  are  not  hung  with  stars  that  mean  the 
same  thing?  How  do  we  know  but  what  those 
who  watch  and  wait  for  us  up  there  are  not  aiding 
us  in  ways  greater  than  we  dream  possible  ?  Help 
ing  us  as  Israel  was  helped,  by  the  invisible  hosts 
and  chariots  of  fire,  in  the  mountain  round  about 
Elisha?" 

The  tenderest  smile  lit  up  his  face.  "It's 
strange  you  should  have  hit  upon  that  particular 
story,"  he  said.  "It  was  one  of  my  mother's 
favorites.  She  began  telling  it  to  me  when  I  was 
no  bigger  than  that  little  chap  there,  leaning 
against  her  shoulder." 

Then  he  turned  and  held  out  his  hand,  saying, 
"You've  given  me  more  than  you  can  ever  know, 
Miss  Huntingdon.  Thank  you  for  hanging  that 


272       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

little  service  star  there.    She  does  say  Godspeed, 
and  its  help  will  go  with  me  overseas." 

A  little  while  later  he  went  away,  and  I've  won 
dered  a  dozen  times  since  what  made  me  say  that 
to  him. 

The  month  of  July  in  my  1917  calendar  is  a 
motley  page,  the  first  half  of  it  being  marked  with 
a  perfect  jumble  of  red  rings  and  black  crosses. 
They  stand  for  all  that  happened  between  my 
home-coming  after  Commencement  and  Richard's 
goodbye.  When  you  consider  that  into  one  day 
alone  was  crowded  my  birthday  anniversary, 
Babe's  wedding,  Aunt  Elspeth's  death,  and  the 
greatest  experience  of  my  life,  it's  no  wonder  that 
in  looking  back  over  it  all  July  seems  almost  as 
long  and  eventful  as  all  the  years  which  went 
before  it. 

There  is  a  triple  ring  around  the  twenty- 
seventh.  I  couldn't  make  it  red  enough,  for  that 
is  the  joyful  day  that  Richard's  cablegram  came, 
saying  that  he  was  safe  in  England.  It  was  also 
the  day  that  Babe  came  home  from  her  honey 
moon,  alone,  of  course.  Watson  joined  his  ship 
two  days  after  they  left  here,  and  she  visited  his 
people  the  rest  of  the  time.  I've  not  marked  that 
event  but  I'll  not  forget  it  soon,  because  she  was 
so  provoking  when  I  ran  in  to  tell  her  my  news. 


MARKED  ON  THE  CALENDAR      273 

Not  that  she  wasn't  interested  in  hearing  of  Rich 
ard's  safety,  or  that  she  wasn't  enthusiastic  about 
my  engagement  and  my  solitaire,  but  she  had  such 
a  superior  married  air,  as  if  the  mere  fact  of  her 
being  Mrs.  Watson  Tucker  made  all  she  said  and 
felt  important. 

She  gave  me  to  understand  that  while  it  was 
natural  that  she  should  worry  about  Watson,  and 
almost  die  of  anxiety  when  the  mails  were  late,  I 
oughtn't  to  feel  the  separation  as  keenly  as  she, 
because  I  was  merely  engaged. 

"My  dear,  you  can't  realize  the  difference  until 
you've  had  the  experience,"  she  said  patroniz 
ingly.  I  told  her  Richard  had  been  a  part  of  my 
life  ever  since  I  was  a  child,  and  it  stood  to  reason 
that  he  filled  a  larger  place  in  it  than  Watson 
could  in  hers,  having  only  come  into  it  recently. 

It's  no  use  arguing  with  Babe.  You  never  get 
anywhere.  So  I  just  looked  down  on  my  little 
ring  of  pirate  gold  and  felt  sorry  for  her.  She 
has  no  link  like  that  to  remind  her  of  such  buried 
treasure  as  Richard  and  I  share — the  memory  of 
all  those  years  when  we  were  growing  up  to 
gether. 

Early  in  August  I  had  the  joy  of  putting  a  big 
red  capital  L  on  my  calendar,  to  mark  the  day 
that  Richard's  first  letter  came.  He  was  well,  he 
had  had  a  comfortable  crossing,  he  had  passed  all 


274       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

his  tests  and  begun  his  special  training  for  the 
coast  patrol.  It  is  almost  worth  the  separation 
to  have  a  letter  like  that.  Not  only  did  he  tell 
me  right  out  in  the  dearest  way  how  much  he 
cares  for  me,  regardless  of  the  censor's  possible 
embarrassment,  but  every  line  showed  his  buoyant 
spirits  over  the  chance  that  has  come  to  him  at 
last.  He  has  wanted  it  so  desperately,  tried  for 
it  so  gallantly  and  worked  and  waited  so  patiently 
that  I  would  be  a  selfish  pig  not  to  be  glad  too, 
and  I  am  glad. 

Judith  asked  how  I  had  the  heart  to  go  into 
the  tableaux  that  Mrs.  Tupman  is  getting  up  for 
the  Yarn  fund.  She  was  sure  she  couldn't  if  she 
were  in  my  place.  She  'd  be  thinking  all  the  time 
of  the  danger  he  is  in.  She  wondered  if  I  realized 
that  the  elements  themselves  conspire  against  an 
aviator — fire,  earth  and  even  water,  if  he's  in  the 
naval  force,  to  say  nothing  of  the  risk  of  the 
enemy's  guns. 

She  couldn't  understand  it  when  I  said  I  wasn't 
going  to  make  myself  miserable  thinking  of  such 
things.  And  I'm  not.  He's  having  his  heart's 
desire  at  last,  and  I'm  so  happy  for  him  that  I 
won't  let  myself  be  sorry  for  me. 

His  next  letter  was  written  five  thousand"  feet 
up  in  the  air.  He  went  to  twenty  thousand  feet 
that  trip,  but  couldn't  write  at  such  a  height,  be- 


MARKED  ON  THE  CALENDAR      275 

cause  his  hand  got  so  cold  he  had  to  put  his  glove 
on.  Of  course  it  was  only  a  short  scribbled  note, 
but  it  thrilled  me  to  the  core  to  have  one  written 
under  such  circumstances. 

In  the  postscript,  added  after  landing,  he  said, 
"I  never  go  up  without  wishing  you  could  share 
with  me  the  amazing  sensations  of  such  a  flight. 
You  would  love  the  diving  and  twirling  and 
swooping.  You  were  always  such  a  good  little 
sport  I  don't  like  to  have  you  left  out  of  the  game. 
Never  mind,  we'll  have  a  flier  of  our  own  when  I 
come  back,  and  we'll  go  up  every  day.  We  had 
an  exciting  chase  after  some  enemy  planes  the 
other  day.  We  sent  down  one  raiding  Boche  and 
came  near  getting  winged  ourselves.  I  wish  I 
might  tell  you  the  important  particulars,  but  the 
things  which  would  interest  you  most  are  the  very 
ones  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  write  about.  All  I 
£an  say  is  that  life  over  here  now  is  one  perpetual 
thrill,  and  it's  a  source  of  constant  thanksgiving 
to  me  that  Fate  landed  me  in  this  branch  of  the 
service  instead  of  the  one  I  was  headed  for  when 
I  skipped  off  to  Canada." 

Even  Richard's  reference  to  the  enemy  planes 
which  came  near  winging  them  did  not  fill  me  with 
uneasiness,  because  all  his  life  he's  gone  through 
accidents  unscathed.  Once  when  he  was  only  half- 
grown  he  brought  his  sailboat  safely  into  port 


276       GEOBGINA'S  SEE  VICE  STABS 

through  a  squall  which  crippled  it,  and  old  Cap 
tain  Ames  declared  if  it  had  been  any  other  boy 
alongshore  he'd  have  been  drowned.  That  for 
level  head  and  steady  nerve  he'd  never  seen  his 
beat.  Even  back  in  the  days  when  his  crazy 
stunts  in  bicycle  riding  made  the  town's  hair 
stand  on  end,  he  never  had  a  bad  fall.  So  I  didn't 
worry  when  two  weeks  went  by  without  bringing 
further  word  from  him.  But  when  three  passed 
and  then  a  whole  month,  I  began  to  get  anxious. 
Now  that  it's  beginning  on  the  second  month,  I'm 
awfully  worried. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BRAVE  LITTLE  CARRIER  PIGEON! 

WE  have  had  another  storm.  It  wrecked  so 
many  vessels  and  sent  so  many  fishermen  to  their 
death  that  the  dreadful  tenth  of  August  will  go 
down  in  the  annals  of  Provincetown  as  a  day  of 
dole  for  the  whole  Cape.  So  many  families  suf 
fered  from  it.  Most  of  them  are  Portuguese, 
and  many  of  them  are  totally  unprovided  for, 
now  that  their  breadwinners  are  taken. 

At  first  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  just  couldn't  go 
down  to  the  Fayals',  but  Tippy,  who  had  been 
several  times,  said  I  ought  to,  because  Mrs.  Fayal 
has  always  been  so  good  about  coming  in  for  an 
extra  day's  cleaning  and  has  done  our  washing 
so  many  years,  and  I  used  to  play  with  Rosalie. 
I  didn't  know  what  to  say  or  do  that  could  be  of 
any  possible  comfort.  But  Rosalie  clung  to  me  so 
the  night  that  her  father  was  brought  home,  that 
I  sat  with  them  till  morning. 

There  wasn't  a  stronger,  sturdier  fisherman 
along  the  coast  than  Joe  Fayal.  I've  seen  him 

277 


278       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

go  clumping  past  our  house  a  thousand  times  in 
his  high  boots  and  yellow  oilskins,  and  the  flash  of 
his  white  teeth  and  black  eyes  always  gave  the 
impression  of  his  being  more  alive  than  most  peo 
ple.  When  I  saw  the  white  drowned  thing  they 
brought  home  in  place  of  him  I  began  to  be  afraid 
— afraid  of  the  "peril  of  the  sea."  If  it  can  do 
that  to  one  strong  man  it  can  do  it  to  another. 

All  night  Mrs.  Fayal  sat  in  a  corner  behind  the 
stove.  Sometimes  she  wrung  her  hands  without 
a  word,  and  sometimes  she  kept  up  a  sort  of  moan 
ing  whimper — "The  War  took  both  my  boys  and 
now  the  Sea 's  takenf  my  man ! "  I  can  hear  her 
yet. 

The  days  that  followed  were  too  full  for  me  to 
worry  as  much  as  I  would  have  done  otherwise 
over  Richard's  long  silence.  The  poverty  of  all 
those  desolate  families  came  uppermost.  A  fund 
was  started  for  the  widows  and  orphans,  and  all 
parts  of  New  England  came  to  the  rescue.  Art 
ists,  actors,  the  summer  people,  the  home  folks — 
everybody  responded.  A  series  of  benefits  and 
tag  days  began.  I  was  asked  to  serve  on  so  many 
committees  and  to  help  in  so  many  enterprises 
that  I  raced  through  the  days  as  if  I  were  a  fast 
express  train,  trying  to  make  connections.  I 
didn't  have  time  to  think  during  the  day,  but  at 
night  when  I  lay  counting  up  the  time  since  I'd 


BRAVE  LITTLE  CARRIER  PIGEON    279 

had  a  letter,  the  waves  booming  up  against  the 
breakwater  took  to  repeating  that  wail  of  Mrs. 
FayaPs,  and  the  fog  bell  tolled  it:  "The  Sea's 
taken  my  man."  And  I'd  be  so  afraid  I'd  pull 
the  covers  over  my  ears  to  shut  out  the  sound. 

Then  seven  letters  came  in  a  bunch.  The  long 
silence  had  not  been  Richard's  fault,  nor  was  any 
thing  the  matter.  There  had  simply  been  delays 
in  the  mail  service.  I  vowed  I'd  let  that  be  a  les 
son  to  me,  not  to  worry  next  time. 

Barby  came  home  late  in  the  summer,  and  the 
very  day  of  her  arrival  I  had  to  go  to  Brewster 
on  a  " war-bread"  campaign.  I  had  promised  to 
be  demonstrator  any  time  they  called  for  me.  It 
was  tough  luck  to  have  the  call  hit  that  first  day. 
I  hadn't  had  her  to  myself  for  ages,  and  after  the 
wild  scramble  of  the  summer  I  longed  for  a  quiet 
day  in  a  rocking  chair  at  home,  where  we  could 
talk  over  all  the  things  that  had  happened  since 
the  last  time  we  were  together — principally  Rich 
ard. 

If  there  were  no  war  now,  I  suppose  that's 
about  all  we  'd  be  doing  these  days,  spending  long, 
placid  hours  together,  embroidering  dainty  lin 
gerie  and  putting  my  initials  on  table  linen  and 
such  things.  But  there'll  be  no  "hope  chest"  for 
me  while  there's  a  soldier  left  in  a  hospital  to 
need  pajamas  and  bandages,  or  one  in  the  trenches 


280       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

who  needs  socks.  The  wild  beast  is  not  only  on 
our  door-steps  now,  he  has  us  by  the  very  throats. 

Barby  came  with  the  intention  of  taking  me  back 
with  her,  and  Tippy,  too,  if  she  could  persuade 
her  to  go.  Although  we  're  not  the  very  important 
hub  of  a  very  important  wheel  as  she  is  in  Wash 
ington,  we  are  the  hubs  of  a  good  many  little 
wheels  which  we  have  started,  and  which  would 
stop  if  we  left.  I  was  wild  to  go,  but  Tippy  has 
no  patience  with  people  who  put  their  hands  to 
the  plow  and  then  look  back.  She  kept  reminding 
me  of  the  various  things  that  I  have  gotten  into 
good  running  order,  such  as  the  Junior  Red  Cross, 
and  a  new  Busy  Bees  Circle  which  Minnie  Waite 
is  running,  under  my  direction  and  prodding. 
They  are  doing  wonderfully  well  as  long  as  the 
prodding  never  lets  up. 

While  we  were  debating  the  question  it  was 
settled  for  us  in  a  most  unexpected  way.  Old  Mr. 
Carver  telephoned  that  he  needed  me  dreadfully 
in  the  office.  Could  I  come  and  help  him  hold  the 
fort  for  awhile?  His  son  was  very  ill  and  had 
been  taken  to  Boston  for  an  operation.  The  draft 
had  called  so  many  men  that  practically  the  whole 
office  force  was  new,  and  his  stenographer  had 
just  left  to  take  a  government  position. 

Much  as  Barby  wanted  me  with  her,  she  said 
that  that  settled  it.  Nothing  a  girl  of  my  age 


BRAVE  LITTLE  CARRIER  PIGEON    281 

could  find  to  do  in  Washington  was  as  important 
as  that.  Fish  is  a  big  item  in  the  Nation's  food 
supply  and  anything  I  could  do  to  help  carry  on 
that  business  helped  carry  on  the  war.  Also  some 
of  our  income  depended  on  the  success  of  the 
Plant,  and  if  old  Mr.  Sammy  broke  down  under 
the  responsibility,  strangers  would  have  to  step 
in.  Besides,  Father  would  be  gratified  to  have 
me  called  on  in  the  emergency,  just  as  Titcomb 
and  Sammy  III  would  have  been  if  they  were  not 
in  training  camp. 

It  was  wonderful  the  way  that  old  man  rose  up 
and  took  the  reins  again,  after  having  been  little 
more  than  a  figurehead  in  the  business  for  some 
years.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a  dozen  places  at  once, 
and  he  found  many  places  to  use  me  besides  at 
the  typewriter;  sending  me  to  bank,  and  helping 
the  new  bookkeeper  fill  out  checks  for  the  pay 
roll,  etc.  I  had  the  surprise  of  my  life  when  I 
found  my  own  name  on  the  pay-roll.  I  had  gone 
in  to  help  out  in  the  emergency,  just  as  I  would 
have  gone  to  a  neighbor's  house  in  time  of  sick 
ness.  Also  it  was  partly  for  our  own  interests, 
and  I  was  being  more  than  compensated  by  the 
feeling  that  I  was  doing  something  worth  while 
filling  in  in  place  of  drafted  employees.  I  had  no 
thought  of  being  paid  for  it,  nor  of  being  wanted 
more  than  a  few  weeks. 


282       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

But  Mr.  Carver  said  I  was  worth  more  to  him 
than  an  ordinary  stenographer,  even  if  I  had  for 
gotten  a  lot  and  lost  my  speed.  I  could  answer 
many  of  the  letters  without  dictation,  and  I  knew 
so  much  of  the  inside  workings  of  the  business,  he 
could  trust  me  with  confidential  matters,  and  he 
could  blow  off  steam  to  me  when  things  went 
wrong.  In  other  words,  I  could  keep  up  his 
morale.  Poor  old  fellow,  he  needed  to  have  some 
body  keep  it  up,  as  time  proved.  His  son  had  a 
relapse  and  there  were  weeks  when  he  was  des 
perately  worried  over  his  condition.  He  blew  off 
steam  principally  about  his  daughter-in-law,  whom 
he  held  responsible  for  the  relapse. 

"  Always  a-crying  and  a-f retting  about  those 
boys, ' '  he  would  fume.  * '  Min  's  a  good  woman  and 
a  good  mother,  but  she's  a  selfish  slacker  with 
Sammy.  Doesn't  seem  to  think  that  a  father  has 
any  feelings.  Doesn't  realize  that  those  boys  are 
the  apple  of  his  eye.  All  her  goings  on  about 
them,  and  how  it's  killing  her,  knowing  they  will 
surely  be  killed,  when  he's  as  weak  as  he  is — it's 
a  downright  shame.  She 's  only  one  of  many,  why 
can 't  she  do  like  a  million  other  mothers,  keep  her 
own  hurt  out  of  sight,  at  least  till  his  life 's  out  of 
danger. ' ' 

Well,  when  I  found  I  was  to  be  paid  for  my 
work,  that  he  really  thought  I  was  worth  the  sal- 


BRAVE  LITTLE  CAREIER  PIGEON    283 

ary  the  other  girl  got,  and  that  he  wanted  to  keep 
me  permanently,  I  was  the  happiest  creature  that 
ever  banged  the  keys  of  a  typewriter.  For  while 
I  banged  them  I  was  counting  up  all  the  Liberty 
Bonds  I  could  buy  in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  how 
much  I'd  have  for  the  Bed  Cross,  and  how  much 
for  all  the  other  things  I  wanted  to  do.  Of  course, 
I've  always  had  my  allowance,  but  it's  nothing  to 
the  bliss  of  earning  money  with  your  own  fingers, 
to  do  exactly  as  you  please  with.  There  is  no 
other  sensation  in  the  whole  universe  so  gratify 
ing,  so  satisfying  and  so  beatifying! 

When  the  noon  whistle  blew  I  ran  down  the 
wharf  and  all  the  way  home  to  tell  Barby,  then 
I  put  a  big  red  ring  round  the  date  on  the  calen 
dar.  Before  nightfall  I  put  another  ring  around 
that  one,  for  the  postman  brought  me  a  long  letter 
from  Eichard,  a  letter  that  made  me  so  happy  I 
felt  like  putting  a  red  ring  around  the  whole 
world. 

It  was  somewhat  of  a  shock  to  find  that  it  was 
written  in  a  hospital,  although  he  assured  me  in 
the  very  first  paragraph  that  he  was  perfectly 
well,  and  over  all  the  ill  effects,  before  he  went  on 
to  say  ill  effects  of  ivhat.  This  is  part  of  it: 
'  *  Lieutenant  Eobbins  and  I  went  out  for  an  ob 
servation  flight  over  the  enemy  ports  last  Monday. 
Coming  back  something  wTent  wrong  with  the  en- 


284       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

gine  and  we  were  compelled  to  drop  at  once  to  the 
sea.  It  was  unusually  rough  and  the  waves  so 
high  there  was  danger  of  our  light  seaplane  being 
beaten  to  pieces  before  we  could  be  rescued. 
There  was  one  chance  in  a  thousand  that  some 
cruising  patrol  vessel  might  happen  along  near 
enough  to  sight  us,  but  there  were  all  sorts  of 
chances  a  submarine  might  get  us  first.  The  wire 
less  apparatus  wouldn't  work.  "We  had  been  fly 
ing  so  high  to  get  out  of  the  bumps  of  air  currents, 
and  had  been  up  so  long  that  we  were  not  in  any 
shape  to  stand  a  long  strain.  Our  chief  hope  of 
rescue  was  in  the  little  carrier  pigeon  we  had  with 
us.  We  always  take  one,  but  this  one  had  never 
made  a  trial  trip  as  long  as  the  one  it  would  have 
to  take  now,  and  we  didn  't  know  whether  it  would 
fail  us  or  not. 

Imagine  us  tossing  about  in  that  frail  bit  of 
wood  and  canvas,  the  waves  washing  over  us  at 
intervals,  and  land  nowhere  to  be  seen,  watching 
that  white  speck  wing  its  way  out  of  sight.  There 
was  a  while  there  when  I'd  have  been  willing  to 
change  places  with  old  Noah,  even  if  I  had  to 
crowd  in  with  the  whole  Zoo.  Well,  we  tossed 
around  there  for  ages,  it  seemed  to  me,  wet  to  the 
skin  and  chilled  to  the  bone.  All  that  night,  all 
next  day,  and  till  dark  again,  we  hung  on  des 
perately  before  a  searchlight  swept  across  us,  and 


BRAVE  LITTLE  CARRIER  PIGEON    285 

we  saw  a  cruiser  coming  to  our  rescue.  It  had 
been  hunting  us  all  that  time,  for  the  bird  went 
straight  as  an  arrow  with  our  S.  0.  S.  call. 

"The  other  man  was  past  talking  when  they 
found  us,  and  I  could  barely  chatter.  We  were 
both  so  exhausted  we  had  to  be  hauled  aboard  like 
a  couple  of  water-soaked  logs.  But  a  while  in  the 
hospital  has  put  us  back  to  normal  again,  and  here 
we  are  as  good  as  new  and  ready  to  go  up  again. 
We  report  for  duty  in  the  morning. 

"It  bowled  me  over  when  I  heard  what  hap 
pened  to  our  brave  little  pigeon.  Some  fool  took 
a  shot  at  it,  somewhere  near  the  station  probably, 
for  it  managed  to  keep  going  till  it  got  home. 
Then,  just  as  it  reached  the  floor  of  its  loft,  it  fell 
dead.  A  bell  always  rings  as  a  carrier  alights  on 
the  balanced  platform.  When  the  attendant  an 
swered  the  summons  he  found  the  pigeon  lying 
there,  one  foot  shot  away,  and  blood  on  its  little 
white  breast.  It  had  managed  to  fly  the  last  part 
of  its  way,  mortally  wounded.  Lucky  for  us  it 
wasn't  the  leg  with  the  message  that  was  hit.  I 
tell  you  it  makes  me  feel  mighty  serious  to  think 
that  but  for  those  little  wings,  faithful  to  the  last 
beat,  I  wouldn't  be  writing  this  letter  at  this 
present  moment  of  A.  D.  1917. 

"Two  things  kept  coming  into  my  mind,  while 
numb  and  exhausted.  I  clung  to  that  busted  plane, 


286       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

expecting  every  minute  it  would  give  way  under 
us.  I  saw  that  old  wooden  figurehead  of  "Hope" 
that  sits  up  on  the  roof  of  the  Tupman's  portico 
at  home.  Probably  I  was  going  a  bit  nutty,  for  I 
could  see  it  as  plain  as  day.  It  opened  its  mouth 
and  called  to  me  over  and  over,  that  saying  of 
Uncle  Darcy's  that  you  are  always  throwing  at 
people.  'As  long  as  a  man  keeps  hope  at  the  prow 
he  keeps  afloat.'  It  kept  holding  its  old  green, 
wooden  wreath  out  at  me  as  if  it  were  a  life  pre 
server,  and  I  '11  give  you  my  word  it  shouted  loud 
enough  for  me  to  hear  across  the  noise  of  the 
wind,  'as  long  as  a  man' — 'as  long  as  a  man,'  until 
I  began  to  try  to  concentrate  my  mind  on  what  it 
was  saying.  I  actually  believe  the  illusion  or 
whatever  it  was  helped  me  to  hold  on,  for  I  began 
to  obey  orders.  I  hoped  that  the  bird  would  reach 
home  and  hoped  it  so  hard  and  long  that  it  kept 
my  wits  awake.  I  was  just  at  the  point  of  letting 
go  from  sheer  exhaustion  and  dropping  into  the 
sea,  when  it  loomed  up  on  the  horizon.  ' 

' '  Then  a  star  came  out  in  the  sky,  and  I  thought 
in  a  hazy  way  of  the  one  in  your  service  flag  that 
stands  for  me,  and  I  felt  that  if  I  didn't  manage 
to  hang  on  and  get  back  to  you  in  some  way,  you  'd 
think  I  wasn't  'true  blue.'  Then  as  I  kept  on 
staring  at  it,  gradually  I  began  to  confuse  it  with 
you.  But  that's  not  to  be  wondered  at.  Ever 


BRAVE  LITTLE  GABBIER  PIGEON    287 

since  I've  known  you  I've  unconsciously  steered 
my  course  by  you.  You're  so  dependable.  That's 
one  of  your  finest  traits.  No  matter  what  happens 
you'll  just  go  around  in  the  circle  of  your  days, 
true  to  your  ideals  and  your  sense  of  duty. 

"And  though  everything  was  getting  sort  of 
confused  to  me  out  there  in  the  black  water,  star 
ing  death  in  the  face,  there  was  an  underlying 
comfort  in  the  belief  that  even  if  I  didn't  get  back 
you  wouldn't  go  into  a  cloud  of  mourning  for  the 
rest  of  your  days.  You'd  live  out  your  life  as  it 
was  intended,  just  like  that  star.  I  saw  it  again 
last  night  from  the  hospital  window.  It  rises 
here  before  daylight  has  entirely  faded.  The  as 
tronomers  may  call  it  Hesperus  if  they  want  to, 
but  I'll  never  see  it  again  without  calling  it  you." 

I  have  read  that  letter  till  I  know  it  by  heart. 
It  is  getting  worn  in  the  creases.  But  last  night 
when  the  tolling  of  the  fog-bell  awakened  me,  I 
groped  for  it  under  my  pillow  and  read  it  once 
more  by  the  glow  of  my  little  flashlight.  I  wanted 
to  see  the  words  again  in  his  own  handwriting. 
I  cannot  read  often  enough  the  part  that  calls  me 
' '  Star. ' '  That  has  always  been  the  most  beautiful 
of  names  to  me,  even  when  I  gave  it  to  one  who 
wasn't  worthy  of  it.  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  pos 
sible  to  live  up  to  it,  though,  if  Bichard  should 
never  come  back  to  me.  How  could  I  endure  the 


288       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STAES 

ordinary  orbit  of  my  days  I    Yet  how  could  I  dis 
appoint  him? 

Next  day  a  package  came  which  should  have 
reached  me  with  the  letter.  It  was  the  little  link 
of  aluminum  they  took  from  the  leg  of  the  dead 
pigeon.  Fastened  to  it  was  the  cartridge  that 
held  the  message.  Brave  little  bird !  It  gave  its 
life  in  the  cause  of  liberty  just  as  truly  as  any 
man  in  the  trenches.  I  wish  its  deed  could  be  im 
mortalized  in  some  way.  It  makes  me  shudder 
to  think  on  what  a  frail  thing  Eichard's  life  de 
pended,  just  those  little  white  wings,  speeding 
through  trackless  space  on  their  mission  of  res 
cue. 


CHAPTER  XXV 


JANUARY  1,  1918. — I  came  up  to  my  room  to 
night,  thinking  I'd  start  the  New  Year  by  bringing 
this  record  up  to  date;  but  when  I  look  back  on 
the  long  five  months  to  be  filled  in,  the  task  seems 
hopeless.  It  was  Thanksgiving  before  Mr.  Sammy 
was  able  to  come  back  to  work.  Since  then  I've 
had  shorter  hours  at  the  office,  because  they  don't 
have  so  much  work  for  a  stenographer  in  the  win 
ter,  but  the  extra  time  outside  has  been  taken  up 
by  one  breathless  chase  after  another.  When  it 
isn't  selling  Liberty  Bonds  it  is  distributing  leaf 
lets  about  food  conservation  and  the  crime  of 
wasting.  Or  it's  a  drive  for  a  million  more  Red 
Cross  members  or  a  hurry  call  for  surgical  dress 
ings.  Then  every  minute  in  between  it 's  knit,  knit,, 
knit  everlastingly. 

Barby  did  not  come  home  Christmas,  and  we 
did  not  keep  the  day  for  ourselves.  We  had  our 
hands  full  doing  for  the  families  of  the  fishermen 
who  were  drowned  last  summer,  and  for  the  boys 

289 


290       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

at  the  front  and  in  the  camps  at  home.  I  hope 
Richard  got  his  box  all  right,  and  that  Doctor 
John  Wynne  enjoyed  the  one  Tippy  packed  for 
him,  and  the  round-robin  letter  that  Miss  Susan 
and  some  of  the  Wellfleet  people  sent  him.  They 
started  on  their  way  before  Thanksgiving. 

I  saw  " Cousin  James"  a  few  minutes  to-day. 
He  came  down  to  take  a  look  at  his  premises.  The 
bungalow  has  been  boarded  up  ever  since  last 
fall,  when  he  joined  the  class  of  "a  dollar  a  year" 
men,  working  for  the  government.  We  had  such 
a  good  time  talking  about  Richard.  He 's  so  opti 
mistic  about  the  war  ending  soon,  that  he  left  me 
feeling  more  light-hearted  than  I've  been  for 
months.  It  will,  indeed,  be  a  happy  New  Year  if 
it  brings  us  peace. 

WASHINGTON'S  BIRTHDAY.  Shades  of  Valley 
Forge!  What  a  winter  this  is!  It  will  go  down 
in  history  with  its  wheatless  and  meatless  days, 
and  now  that  the  fuel  shortage  is  pinching  all 
classes  of  people  alike,  the  ant  as  well  as  the  grass 
hopper,  the  heatless  days  make  the  situation  al 
most  hopeless. 

Tippy  and  I  are  living  mostly  in  the  kitchen 
now,  because  we  are  nearly  at  the  end  of  our  coal 
supply,  and  the  railroads  are  not  able  to  bring  in 
any  more.  The  open  wood  fires  make  little  im- 


'MISSING"  291 


pression  on  the  general  iciness  of  the  house.  I 
am  sitting  up  in  my  room  to-night  with  furs  and 
arctics  on,  and  a  big  lamp  burning  to  supplement 
the  efforts  of  a  little  coal-oil  heater.  With  all  that 
it's  so  cold  that  I  can  see  my  breath.  My  fingers 
are  so  numb  that  I  can  scarcely  manage  my  pen, 
but  I  must  make  a  note  of  the  news  which  came 
to-day.  It's  about  Doctor  Wynne. 

In  January  Tippy  had  a  letter  from  him,  a 
charmingly  written  account  of  Christmas  in  the 
trenches,  and  a  grateful  acknowledgment  of  the 
box  and  the  letter.  This  morning  a  small  package 
came  to  me,  addressed  in  a  strange  hand.  An 
English  nurse  sent  it.  Inside  she  wrote : 

"Captain  John  Wynne  asked  me  to  send  yon 
the  enclosed.  He  was  in  this  hospital  three  weeks, 
and  died  last  night  from  the  effect  of  injuries  re 
ceived  in  doing  one  of  the  bravest  things  the  war 
has  yet  called  forth.  He  faced  what  seemed  to  be- 
instant  and  inevitable  death  to  avert  an  explosion 
that  would  have  killed  his  Major  and  many  men 
with  him.  In  the  attempt  he  was  so  badly 
wounded  that  it  was  thought  he  could  not  live  to 
reach  the  hospital.  But  maimed  and  shattered 
as  he  was,  he  lived  until  last  night. 

"He  was  one  of  the  most  efficient  surgeons  we 
had  at  the  front,  and  one  of  the  best  beloved.  His 
fortitude  through  his  time  of  intense  suffering  was 


292       GEORGINA'S  SEEVICE  STARS 

a  marvel  to  the  whole  hospital  staff,  accustomed 
.as  we  are  to  nurse  brave  men.  It  really  seemed 
as  if  he  were  sustained  by  some  power  other  than 
mere  human  endurance,  some  strength  of  the  spirit 
few  mortals  attain. 

"It  was  a  source  of  regret  to  all  who  knew  of  his 
case  that  the  decoration  awarded  him  did  not  ar 
rive  until  after  he  lapsed  into  unconsciousness. 
But  he  knew  he  was  to  receive  it.  His  Colonel 
told  him  he  was  to  have  the  highest  award  for 
valor  that  your  country  bestows.  He  had  already 
told  me  what  disposition  to  make  of  his  effects, 
and  when  I  asked  him  in  regard  to  the  expected 
decoration  he  gave  me  your  address  whispering, 
*  She  will  know.'" 

I  did  know.  It  is  hanging  now  where  he  knew  I 
would  put  it.  This  afternoon  when  I  came  home 
I  brought  with  me  a  little  gold  star  to  take  the 
place  of  the  blue  one  on  the  service  flag  under  his 
mother 's  picture.  And  over  it  I  hung  the  medal — 
that  other  star,  bronze  and  laurel-wreathed,  with 
its  one  word  " Valor,"  surmounted  by  its  eagle 
and  its  bit  of  ribbon. 

Tippy,  watching  me,  suddenly  buried  her  face 
in  her  apron  and  went  out  of  the  room,  crying  as 
I  have  never  seen  her  cry  before.  I  knew  it  wasn  't 
the  thought  that  he  was  gone  which  hurt  her  so 
keenly.  It  was  the  fact  that  the  little  token  of  his 


;  MISSING"  293 


country's  appreciation  reached  him  too  late.  He 
missed  the  comfort  of  it  himself,  and  there  was 
no  one  of  his  own  left  to  know  the  honor  done  him 
and  to  take  pride  in  it. 

I  had  been  feeling  the  hurt  of  it  myself,  ever 
since  the  news  came.  But  it  left  me  as  I  stood 
there,  looking  at  the  pictures  in  the  little  antique 
frame.  The  winter  sunset,  streaming  red  across 
the  icicles  outside  the  western  window,  touched 
everything  in  the  room  with  a  tinge  of  rose.  It 
lighted  up  both  faces,  and,  as  I  looked  at  his,  I 
whispered  through  tears : 

"What  does  a  little  guerdon  matter  to  a  soul 
like  yours,  John  Wynne?  The  deed  was  all  you 
cared  for."  And  when  I  looked  into  his  mother's 
face  and  recalled  what  the  nurse  had  written,  I 
dried  my  eyes  and  smiled  into  her  eyes,  that  were 
looking  so  steadfastly  out  at  me.  I  knew  she  had 
helped  him  at  the  last.  In  some  way  her  comfort 
had  been  with  him,  as  the  hosts  "were  round  about 
Elisha  in  the  mountain. ' ' 

ST.  PATRICK'S  DAY.  March  came  in  like  a  lion, 
but  we're  comfortable  now,  thank  goodness,  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  winds  are  still  keen  and 
there  is  much  ice  in  the  harbor.  The  coal  cars 
reached  town  at  last,  and  the  big  base-burner  in 
the  hall  sends  waves  of  delicious  warmth  all 


294       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

through  the  house.  This  past  winter  has  been  a 
nightmare  of  discomfort  for  nearly  everybody. 

Babe  says  her  experiences  since  1918  set  in 
would  make  the  angels  weep.  She's  been  doing 
the  housekeeping  since  New  Year,  because  her 
mother  simply  cannot  adjust  herself  to  war  con 
ditions.  Mrs.  Dorsey  announced  that  she  was 
born  extravagant  and  it  wasn't  her  nature  to  save, 
but  if  Babe  thought  it  was  her  duty  and  was  will 
ing  to  undertake  it,  she'd  put  up  with  the  results 
no  matter  how  harrowing.  They  get  along  pretty 
well  when  Mr.  Dorsey  is  off  on  his  trips,  but  I 
imagine  harrowing  is  the  right  word  for  it  when 
he's  at  home.  He  simply  won't  eat  cornbread, 
and  he  swears  at  the  mere  sight  of  meat  substi 
tutes,  such  as  mock  turkey  made  of  beans  and  pea 
nut  butter  and  things. 

Babe,  having  married  into  the  Navy,  feels  that 
she  is  under  special  obligation  to  Hooverize  to  the 
limit.  She  wants  to  end  the  war  as  soon  as  pos 
sible  on  Watson's  account.  In  fact,  she  makes 
such  a  personal  matter  of  it  that  she's  getting 
herself  disliked  in  some  parts  of  town,  and  some 
people  seem  to  think  she  is  in  a  way  responsible 
for  the  whole  thing.  A  Portuguese  woman  asked 
Tippy  the  other  day  how  long  she  supposed  that 
"Mrs.  Tucker's  war"  was  going  to  last.  She  said 
Babe  is  down  in  their  back  yards  every  few  days, 


'MISSING"  295 


looking  into  their  slop-pails  and  scolding  some 
thing  fierce  if  she  finds  the  potato  parings  thicker 
than  she  says  they  can  be.  Poor  Babe !  Between 
the  demands  of  her  patriotism  and  the  demands  of 
her  difficult  parents  she  is  almost  distracted  at 
times. 

I  wish  I  could  write  down  in  these  pages  all  the 
funny  things  that  happen.  Never  a  day  goes  by, 
either  at  the  office  or  the  Ked  Cross  work-rooms, 
that  something  amusing  doesn't  come  up.  But 
by  the  time  I've  told  it  in  one  letter  for  Barby 
to  pass  on  to  Father,  and  in  another  to  make  Rich 
ard  laugh,  I  haven't  the  patience  to  write  it  all 
out  again  here.  The  consequence  is  I'm  afraid 
I've  given  the  wrong  impression  of  these  last  few 
months.  One  would  think  there  have  been  no  good 
times,  no  good  cheer.  That  it's  been  all  work  and 
grim  duty.  But  such  is  not  the  case.  My  letters 
will  testify  to  that,  and  it's  only  because  so  much 
time  and  energy  have  gone  into  them  that  things 
have  to  be  crowded  into  a  few  brief  paragraphs 
in  this  book. 

Despite  all  the  gruesomeness  of  war  and  my  sep 
aration  from  my  family,  I  am  so  busy  that  I'm 
really  and  truly  happy  from  morning  till  night. 
I  enjoy  my  work  at  the  office  and  my  work  at  home 
and  all  the  kinds  of  war-work  that  come  my  way. 
It's  a  satisfaction  merely  to  turn  out  clean,  well- 


296       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

typed  pages,  but  it's  bliss  unalloyed  to  know  that 
the  money  I'm  getting  for  doing  it  is  going  to  buy 
bread  and  bullets  to  bring  about  the  downfall  of 
the  Kaiser. 

Sometimes  when  old  Mr.  Sammy  is  feeling  espe 
cially  hopeful  and  there's  nobody  in  the  office  but 
me,  he  begins  to  hum  an  old  camp-meeting  tune 
that  they  sing  at  his  church : 

" Coming  bye  and  bye,  coming  bye  and  bye! 
A  better  day  is  dawning,  the  morning  draweth 
nigh. ' ' 

I  join  in  with  a  convincing  alto,  and  afterwards 
we  say  what  a  glorious  old  world  this  will  be  when 
that  day  really  gets  here.  ""When  Johnny  comes 
marching  home  again,  hurrah,"  the  war  won  and 
the  world  made  a  safe  place  for  everybody.  How 
lovely  it  will  be  just  to  draw  a  full  breath  and 
settle  down  and  live. 

At  such  times  it  seems  such  a  grand  privilege 
to  have  even  the  smallest  share  in  bringing  that 
victory  about,  that  he's  all  but  shouting  when  we 
get  through  talking,  and  I've  accumulated  enough 
enthusiasm  to  send  me  through  the  next  week  with 
a  whoop.  Sometimes  if  there  isn't  anything  to  do 
right  then  in  the  office,  I  turn  from  the  desk  and 
look  out  of  the  window,  with  eyes  that  see  far  be- 


;  MISSING"  297 


yond  the  harbor  to  the  happy  dawning  we  Ve  been 
singing  about. 

I  see  Richard  .  .  .  climbing  the  Green  Stairs 
.  .  .  coming  into  the  little  home  we  furnished  to 
gether  in  fancy  .  .  .  the  little  Dream-home  where 
I  Ve  spent  so  many  happy  hours  since.  I  can  see 
the  smile  in  his  dear  eyes  as  he  holds  his  arms  out 
to  me  .  .  .  having  earned  the  right  to  make  all  our 
dreams  come  true  .  .  .  having  fought  the  good 
fight  .  .  .  and  kept  the  faith  .  .  .  that  all  homes 
may  be  safe  and  sacred  everywhere  the  wide  world 
over.  .  .  . 

"When  one  can  dream  dreams  like  that,  one  can 
put  up  with  "the  long,  long  night  of  waiting," 
knowing  it  will  have  such  a  heavenly  ending. 

APRIL  6, 1918.  One  year  ago  to-day  the  United 
States  declared 

I  had  written  only  that  far  last  Saturday  night 
when  I  looked  up  to  see  Tippy  standing  in  the  door 
holding  out  the  evening  paper.  I  felt  as  I  heard 
her  coming  along  the  hall  that  something  was  the 
matter.  She  walked  so  hesitatingly.  Something 
in  her  face  seemed  to  make  my  heart  stand  still, 
and  stopped  the  question  I  started  to  ask.  She 
didn't  seem  to  be  able  to  speak,  just  spread  the 
paper  on  the  table  in  front  of  me  and  pointed  to 


298       GEORGINA'S  SEKVICE  STABS 

something.  Her  finger  was  shaking.  The  four 
black  words  she  pointed  to  seemed  to  leap  up  into 
my  face  as  I  read  them: 

"Lieutenant  Richard  Mor eland,  Missing." 

Those  four  black  words  have  been  in  front  of 
my  eyes  ever  since.  They  were  in  the  official  an 
nouncement  that  "Cousin  James"  brought  down 
next  day.  He  had  been  notified  as  next  of  kin. 

At  first  they  seemed  more  bearable  than  if 
they'd  said  killed  or  seriously  wounded.  I  didn't 
quite  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  "missing."  But 
I  do  now.  I  heard  "Cousin  James"  say  in  a  low 
tone  to  Tippy,  out  in  the  hall,  something  about 
death  being  more  merciful  than  falling  alive  into 
the  hands  of  the  Germans.  He  told  her  some  of 
the  things  they  do.  I  know  he 's  afraid  that  Kieh- 
ard  has  been  taken  prisoner. 

He  keeps  telling  me  that  we  mustn't  be  down 
hearted.  That  we  must  go  on  hoping  as  hard  as 
we  can  that  everything  will  turn  out  all  right.  The 
War  Department  is  doing  its  best  to  trace  him,  and 
if  he's  a  prisoner  we'll  spare  no  expense  and  ef 
fort  to  get  food  through  to  him.  They  always 
treat  aviators  with  more  consideration  than  other 
soldiers,  and  I  mustn't  worry.  But  he  doesn't 


"Lieutenant  TCichard  Moreland  Missing- 


'MISSING"  299 


look  one  bit  the  way  he  talks.    His  face  is  so  hag 
gard  that  I  know  he's  frightened  sick. 

Barby  is,  too,  or  she  wouldn't  have  come  all 
the  way  home  to  tell  me  the  very  same  things  that 
he  did.  She  wants  to  take  me  back  to  Washing 
ton  with  her  till  we  have  farther  news.  She's 
cabled  to  Father.  I  know  they  all  think  it's 
strange  that  I  take  it  so  quietly,  but  I've  felt  numb 
and  dazed  ever  since  those  four  black  words 
leaped  up  at  me  from  the  paper.  I  wish  they 
wouldn't  be  so  tender  with  me  and  so  solicitous 
for  my  comfort.  It's  exactly  the  way  they'd  act 
if  Richard  were  dead.  I'm  glad  " Cousin  James" 
went  right  back.  He  looked  at  me  the  way  Tippy 
does,  as  if  she  pities  me  so  that  it  breaks  her 
heart.  She  doesn't  know  what  her  face  shows. 
None  of  them  realize  that  their  very  efforts  to  be 
cheerful  and  comforting  show  that  their  hope 
fulness  is  only  make-believe. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


rTHE   SERVICE   OF   SHINING" 


AWAY  down  the  crooked  street  sounds  a  faint 
clang  of  the  Towncrier's  bell.  Uncle  Darcy  is 
out  again  with  it,  after  his  long,  shut-in  winter. 
But  he  is  coming  very,  very  slowly.  Even  the 
warm  sunshine  of  this  wonderful  May  afternoon 
cannot  quicken  his  rheumatic  old  feet  so  that  they 
do  more  than  crawl  along.  It  will  be  at  least  half 
an  hour  before  he  reaches  the  Green  Stairs.  He 
will  sit  down  to  rest  a  bit  on  the  bottom  step,  as 
he  always  does  now,  and  I'll  run  down  and  meet 
him  there. 

He  helps  me  more  than  anyone  else,  because, 
more  than  anyone  else,  he  understands  what  I  am 
enduring.  He  remembers  what  he  endured  all 
those  anxious  years  when  Danny  was  missing. 
It's  a  comfort  to  have  him  tell  me  over  and  over 
how  his  ''line  to  live  by"  kept  him  afloat  and 
brought  him  into  port  with  all  flags  flying,  and 
that  it  will  do  the  same  for  me  if  I  only  hold  to 

300 


"THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING "       301 

it  fast  and  hard  enough.    So  I  set  my  teeth  to 
gether  and  repeat  grimly  as  he  used  to  do : 

"I  will  not  bate  a  jot 

Of  heart  or  hope,  but  still  bear  up  and  steer 
Right  onward." 

But  my  imagination  won't  let  me  say  it  in  a 
way  to  do  much  good.  It  keeps  showing  me  dread 
ful  pictures  of  Richard ;  of  what  might  have  hap 
pened  to  him.  I  keep  seeing  his  body  in  some 
God-forsaken  field,  lying  shattered  and  marred 
past  recognition  by  the  enemy's  guns,  his  dead 
face  turned  up  to  the  sky.  Or  I  see  him  falling 
headlong  to  earth  in  a  blazing  plane,  or,  worst  of 
all,  in  the  filth  of  a  German  prison  camp,  weak, 
wounded,  famishing  for  food  and  water  and  tor 
tured  in  a  thousand  ways  that  only  the  minds  of 
those  demons  can  invent.  All  the  things  I've  read 
as  happening  to  other  men  I  imagine  happening  to 
him.  I  see  those  things  over  and  over  and  over 
till  I  nearly  go  mad. 

When  I  fold  the  gauze  into  bandages  and  sew 
the  long  seams  in  the  hospital  garments,  with 
every  movement  and  every  stitch  I  wonder  if  he 
needs  such  comforts,  and  if  needing  them,  they 
are  given  or  denied  him.  I  know  it  doesn't  do  any 
good  to  say  that  I  am  hoping  as  long  as  I  persist 


302       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

in  such  imaginings,  but  I  don't  want  to  think 
about  anything  but  Richard.  My  hands  go  on 
working  in  a  normal  way,  but  when  I'm  not  tor 
turing  myself  as  to  his  whereabouts,  I  am  re-living 
the  past,  or  picturing  the  empty  years  ahead  if 
he  should  never  come  back  to  me.  I  can't  help  it. 

Because  in  one  of  his  letters  he  mentioned  that 
old  figurehead  on  the  roof  of  the  Tupman's  por 
tico,  I  have  taken  to  walking  past  the  house  every 
day.  Everything  even  remotely  connected  with 
him  seems  sacred  now,  even  the  things  he  used 
to  laugh  at.  Because  the  memory  of  the  figure 
head  helped  him  to  hang  on  to  the  wrecked  plane 
till  rescue  came,  I  feel  as  grateful  to  it  as  if  it 
were  a  human  being.  Every  time  I  pass  it  I  tell 
myself  I  won't  stop  hoping  for  a  single  minute. 
I  won't  let  myself  believe  anything  else  but  that 
he'll  come  back  to  me  some  day.  Then  with  the 
next  breath  comes  that  awful  vision  of  him  lying 
dead  in  some  lonely  spot  where  he  can  never  be 
found,  and  it  seems  to  me  I  simply  can't  go  on 
living. 

1 1  Cousin  James ' '  still  writes  encouragingly,  but 
as  the  weeks  go  by  and  no  trace  of  him  can  be 
found  in  any  of  the  hospitals  and  no  news  of  him 
comes  through  any  of  the  foreign  offices,  the  sus 
pense  is  getting  to  be  unbearable.  I  can't  admit 
to  anyone  how  horribly  afraid  I  am,  but  it  is  a 


' 'THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      303 

relief  to  confess  it  here.  Now  that  I've  done  so, 
I'll  run  down  and  talk  to  Uncle  Darcy  awhile.  He 
is  the  living  embodiment  of  hope  and  faith.  The 
confident,  happy  way  with  which  he  looks  forward 
to  joining  Aunt  Elspeth  soon  makes  me  feel  bet 
ter  every  time  I  am  with  him.  It  brings  back  what 
Richard  said  the  day  she  was  buried:  "All  that 
they  were  to  each  other  we  will  be  to  one  another, 
and  more."  If  I  could  only  be  sure  that  after  this 
terrible  waiting  will  come  such  long,  placid  years 
as  they  had !  Years  of  growing  nearer  and  dearer, 
in  a  union  that  old  age  only  strengthens,  and  death 
cannot  sever. 

Mid-June,  and  still  no  word!  Now  that  no  new 
letters  ever  come,  I  read  the  old  ones  over  and 
over.  The  one  I  take  out  of  tenest  is  the  one  which 
says,  "No  matter  what  happens,  you'll  go  around 
in  the  circle  of  your  days,  true  to  your  ideals  and 
your  sense  of  duty.  You  won't  go  into  a  cloud  of 
mourning.  .  .  .  You  will  live  out  your  life  as  it 
was  intended,  just  like  that  star." 

Always,  until  to-night,  that  letter  has  been  a 
comfort,  because  it  tells  of  his  wonderful  rescue, 
and  gives  me  the  feeling  that  if  he  could  escape 
so  marvelously  one  time  he  can  another.  But  re 
reading  that  paragraph  a  while  ago,  I  suddenly 
saw  something  in  it  that  I'd  never  discovered  be- 


304       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

fore.  It  shows  he  must  have  had  a  presentiment 
that  he  'd  never  get  back  to  me.  He  knew  what  was 
going  to  happen,  else  why  should  he  have  said 
"you  won't  go  into  a  cloud  of  mourning  .  .  . 
you  '11  live  out  your  life  as  it  was  intended ! ' '  The 
discovery  of  that  premonition  takes  away  the  last 
little  straw  that  I've  been  clinging  to.  He  felt 
what  was  going  to  happen.  It  has  happened.  It- 
must  be  so,  for  it  is  over  two  months  now  since 
he  was  first  reported  missing. 

One  goes  on  because  one  must.  We're  made 
that  way  on  purpose,  I  suppose.  When  sight  fails 
we  still  have  touch.  We  can  feel  our  way  through 
the  dark  with  groping  fingers. 

All  the  glad  incentive  for  living  is  gone,  but 
when  I  look  at  the  star  in  the  little  service  flag 
which  stands  for  Richard,  every  atom  of  me  lifts 
itself  like  a  drawn  sword  to  pledge  itself  to  greater 
effort.  His  sacrifice  shall  not  be  in  vain! 

And  when  I  look  at  the  star  that  stands  for 
Father,  I  make  the  same  vow.  He  is  sacrificing 
himself  just  as  surely  as  Richard  did,  though  he's 
giving  his  life  by  inches.  His  health  is  going,  and 
his  strength.  Twenty-four  hours  at  a  stretch  at 
the  operating  table  is  too  much  for  any  man,  and 
that's  what  he's  had  to  endure  a  number  of  times 
recently  after  the  big  enemy  offensives.  Always 


"THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      305 

he's  on  a  strain.  One  of  Mr.  Carver's  friends 
who  saw  him  not  long  ago,  wrote  home  that  he  has 
aged  terribly.  He  looks  fifteen  years  older  than 
when  we  saw  him.  Tippy  says  I'm  burning  the 
candle  at  both  ends,  but  I  don't  care  if  I  can  only 
keep  burning  till  we've  put  an  end  to  this  mad 
carnage. 

The  other  day  when  I  passed  the  Figurehead 
House,  Mrs.  Tupman  called  me  in  and  asked  me  if 
I'd  be  willing  to  tell  the  story  of  Eichard's  rescue 
and  the  little  Carrier  Pigeon's  part  in  it,  at  the 
Town  Hall  this  week.  There's  to  be  a  big  rally 
for  selling  Thrift  Stamps.  She  wanted  me  to 
show  the  children  the  tiny  aluminum  bracelet  and 
cartridge  which  held  the  S.  0.  S.  call.  She  was 
sure  that  if  they  could  hear  how  one  little  pigeon 
saved  the  lives  of  two  officers,  they  would  be  im 
pressed  with  the  importance  of  small  things. 
They  would  be  more  interested  in  saving  their 
pennies  if  they  could  think  of  their  stamps  as  little 
wings,  speeding  across  the  seas  to  save  the  lives 
of  our  armies. 

But  I  told  her  I  couldn't.  I'd  do  anything  im 
personal  that  she  might  ask,  but  I  couldn  't  get  up 
before  a  crowd  and  speak  of  anything  so  inti 
mately  connected  with  Richard.  I  could  have  done 
it  gladly  when  he  was  alive,  but  now  that  little 
link  of  aluminum  has  associations  too  sacred  for 


306       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

me  to  hold  up  for  the  curious  public  to  gape  at. 

But  after  supper,  out  in  the  row-boat,  I  saw 
things  differently.  I  was  paddling  around  near 
shore,  watching  the  wonderful  afterglow  reflected 
in  the  water,  pink  and  mother-of-pearl  and  faint 
est  lavender.  It  was  all  unspeakably  beautiful,  as 
it  has  been  countless  times  when  Richard  was  out 
with  me.  Because  of  the  conviction  that  we'd 
never  again  see  it  together,  the  very  beauty  of  it 
gave  me  a  lonely,  hopeless  sort  of  heart-ache.  It 
is  one  of  the  most  desolate  sensations  in  the  world, 
and  it  is  a  poignant  pain  to  remember  that  ''ten 
der  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead,"  which  "can  never 
come  back  to  me." 

As  those  words  floated  dreamily  through  my 
memory,  with  them  came  the  recollection  of  the 
time  I  had  repeated  them  in  this  very  boat,  and 
Richard's  unexpected  answer  which  set  Captain 
Kidd  to  barking.  I  could  hear  again  his  hearty 
laugh  and  the  teasing  way  he  said,  "That's  no 
way  for  a  good  sport  to  do."  It  brought  him  back 
so  plainly  that  I  could  almost  see  him  sitting  there 
opposite  me  in  the  boat,  so  big  and  cheerful  and 
alive.  The  sense  of  nearness  to  him  was  almost  as 
comforting  as  if  he  had  really  spoken. 

And  then,  knowing  him  as  well  as  I  do,  knowing 
exactly  how  he  always  responded,  in  such  a  com 
mon-sense,  matter-of-fact  way,  I  could  imagine  the 


"THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      307 

answer  he  would  make  were  I  to  tell  him  of  Mrs. 
Tupman's  request. 

1 1  Why,  sure ! "  he  'd  say.  '  '  Tell  the  story  of  the 
little  pigeon,  and  make  it  such  a  ripping  good  one 
there  won't  be  a  dry  eye  in  the  house.  It'll  give 
the  little  fellow  the  chance  for  another  flight. 
Every  stamp  they  sell  will  be  in  answer  to  an 
S.O.S.  call  of  some  kind,  and  if  it's  the  bird  that 
makes  them  buy,  it'll  be  just  the  same  as  if  his  own 
little  wings  had  carried  the  message." 

The  thought  cheered  me  up  so  much  that  I  went 
straight  home  and  telephoned  to  Mrs.  Tupman 
that  I'd  reconsidered,  and  I'd  gladly  do  what  she 
asked  me  to. 

Since  then  I've  taken  to  going  out  in  the  boat 
whenever  my  courage  is  at  low  ebb.  Out  there  on 
the  water,  in  the  peace  of  the  vast  twilight  drop 
ping  down  on  the  sea,  I  can  conjure  up  that  sense 
of  his  nearness  as  nowhere  else.  It  has  the  same 
effect  on  my  feverish  spirit  as  if  his  big  firm  hand 
closed  gently  over  mine.  It  quiets  my  forebod 
ings.  It  steadies  me.  It  makes  me  know  past  all 
doubting  that  no  matter  what  has  happened,  he  is 
still  mine.  His  love  abides.  Death  cannot  take 
that. 

Oh,  what  does  a  person  do  who  is  so  glad — so 
crazy  glad  that  he  must  find  vent  for  his  joy,  when 


308       GEOEGINA'S  SERVICE  STABS 

there  are  no  words  made  great  enough  to  express 
it?  We've  had  news  of  Richard!  He's  safe!  He 
escaped  from  a  German  prison  camp.  That's  all 
we  know  now,  but  it  is  all  of  heaven  to  know  that 
much. 

The  news  of  his  safety  came  as  suddenly  as  the 
word  that  he  was  missing.  Tippy  called  me  to 
come  down  to  the  telephone.  Long  distance 
wanted  me.  It  was  "Cousin  James."  He  had  a 
cablegram  from  that  Canadian  friend  of  Rich- 
ard's.  We  had  an  expensive  little  jubilee  for  a 
while  there.  You  don't  think  of  how  much  it's 
costing  a  minute  when  you're  talking  about  the 
dead  coming  to  life.  It  was  as  wonderful  as  that. 

" Cousin  James"  said  undoubtedly  we  would 
have  letters  soon.  The  fact  that  Richard  had  not 
cabled  for  himself,  made  him  afraid  that  he  was 
laid  up  for  repairs.  He  was  probably  half-starved 
and  weak  to  the  point  of  exhaustion  from  all  he  'd 
gone  through  in  making  his  escape.  So  we  must 
have  patience  if  we  didn't  hear  right  away.  We 
could  wait  for  details  now  that  we  had  the  greatest 
news  of  all,  and  so  forth  and  so  on. 

The  moment  he  rang  off  I  started  down  to  Uncle 
Darcy's,  telling  Tippy  all  there  was  to  tell,  as  I 
clapped  on  my  hat  and  hurried  through  the  hall. 
I  started  down  the  back  street  half  running.  The 
baker  Js  cart  gave  me  a  lift  down  Bradford  Street. 


1  'THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      309 

I  was  almost  breathless  when  I  reached  the 
gate. 

Uncle  Darcy  was  dozing  in  his  arm-chair  set 
out  in  the  dooryard.  There  flashed  into  my  mind 
that  day  long  ago,  when  his  hopes  found  happy 
fulfillment  and  Dan  came  home.  That  day  Father 
came  back  from  China  and  we  all  went  out  to  meet 
the  ship  and  came  ashore  in  the  motor  boat.  And 
now  I  called  out  to  him  what  I  had  called  to  him 
then,  through  the  dashing  spray  and  the  noise  of 
the  wind  and  waves  and  motor: 

"It  pays  to  keep  hope  at  the  prow,  Uncle 
Darcy!" 

And  he,  rousing  up  with  a  start  at  the  familiar 
call,  smiled  a  welcome  and  answered  as  he  did 
when  I  was  a  child,  the  same  affectionate  light  in 
his  patient  old  eyes. 

"Aye,  lass,  it  does  that!" 

"And  we're  coming  into  port  with  all  flags  fly 
ing!" 

Then  he  knew.  The  trembling  joy  in  my  voice 
told  him. 

"YouVe  heard  from  Richard!"  he  exclaimed 
quaveringly,  "and  youVe  come  to  tell  the  old  man 
first  of  all.  I  knew  you  would. '  ' 

And  then  for  a  little  while  we  sat  and  rejoiced 
together  as  only  two  old  mariners  might,  who  had 
each  known  shipwreck  and  storm  and  who  had 


310       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

each  known  the  joy  of  finding  happy  anchorage 
in  his  desired  haven. 

On  the  way  home  I  stopped  to  tell  Babe.  Good 
old  Babe.  She  was  so  glad  that  the  tears  streamed 
down  her  face. 

"Now  I  can  help  with  your  wedding,"  was  her 
first  remark.  "Of  course,  he'll  have  to  be  in 
valided  home,  for  I  don't  suppose  he's  more  than 
skin  and  bone  if  he  '&  been  in  the  hands  of  the  Ger 
mans  all  this  time.  But,  under  the  circumstances, 
you  won't  mind  marrying  a  living  skeleton.  I 
know  /  wouldn't  if  I  were  in  your  place.  He'll  be 
coming  right  back,  of  course." 

Everybody  I  met  seemed  to  think  the  same  thing. 
They  took  it  for  granted  that  he'd  done  all  that 
could  be  expected  of  a  man.  That  three  months 
in  a  German  prison  was  equal  to  several  dyings. 
After  I  got  home  I  told  Captain  Kidd.  He  was 
lying  on  the  rug  inside  the  hall  door  with  his  nose 
between  his  paws,  seemingly  asleep.  "Richard's 
coming,"  was  all  I  said  to  him,  but  up  he  scram 
bled  with  that  little  yap  of  joy  and  ran  to  the 
screen  door  scratching  and  whining  to  be  let  out. 
It  was  so  human  of  him  that  I  just  grabbed  his 
shaggy  old  head  in  my  arms  and  hugged  him  tight. 
"He's  coming  some  day,"  I  explained  to  him,  "but 
we'll  have  to  wait  a  while,  old  fellow,  maybe  a 


"THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      311 

long,  long  while.  But  we  won't  mind  that  now, 
after  all  we've  been  through.  Just  now  it's 
enough  to  know  that  he's  alive  and  safe." 

MY  NINETEENTH  BIRTHDAY.  It 's  wonderful  that 
Richard  's  letter  should  happen  to  get  here  on  this 
particular  day.  The  sight  of  his  familiar  hand 
writing  gave  me  such  a  thrill  that  it  brought  the 
tears.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  called  my  name, 
seeing  it  written  out  in  his  big,  bold  hand. 

He  says  he  can't  tell  me  the  details  of  his  expe 
riences  now.  They  are  too  fierce  for  him  to  at 
tempt  to  put  on  paper  till  he  is  stronger.  Babe 
was  right.  He's  almost  the  shadow  of  his  former 
self.  But  he  says  he  is  beginning  to  pick  up 
famously.  He  is  in  Switzerland,  staying  with  a 
family  who  were  old  friends  of  his  father's.  They 
are  taking  royal  care  of  him,  and  he's  coming 
around  all  right.  The  wound  in  his  arm  (he 
doesn't  say  how  he  got  it)  is  healing  rapidly. 

Oh,  it's  a  dear  letter — all  the  parts  in  between 
about  wanting  to  see  me,  and  my  being  doubly 
dear  to  him  now — but  he  doesn't  say  a  word  about 
coming  home.  Not  one  word! 

A  WEEK  LATER.  He  has  written  again,  and  he  is 
not  coming  home  until  the  war  is  over.  He'll  be 
able  to  go  back  into  the  service  in  a  couple  of 


312       GEORGINA'S  SERVICE  STARS 

months,  maybe  sooner,  if  he  stays  on  quietly  there. 
It  isn't  that  he  does  not  want  to  come.  He  has 
been  behind  the  lines  and  seen  the  awfulness.  It 
must  be  stopped.  Those  prison  camps  must  be 
wiped  out !  We  must  win  as  soon  as  possible ! 
He  feels,  as  never  before,  the  necessity  for  quick 
action,  and  he  makes  me  feel  it  too. 

"Dad's  sacrifice  must  not  be  in  vain,"  he  writes. 
"Nor  Belgium's,  nor  the  hordes  of  brave  men  who 
have  fallen  since.  And  we  must  not  go  on  sacri 
ficing  other  lives.  This  thing  has  got  to  be 
stopped! 

"I  know  you  feel  the  same  way  about  it,  Georg- 
ina.  I'm  sure  that  you  want  me  to  stay  on  here 
without  asking  for  a  furlough,  since  by  staying  I 
can  be  up  and  at  it  again  sooner.  Say  that  you 
do,  dearest,  so  that  I  may  feel  your  courage  back 
of  me  to  the  last  ditch." 

I  have  said  it.  The  answer  is  already  on  its 
way.  How  could  I  be  selfish  enough  to  think  of 
anything  but  the  great  need?  I  am  only  one  of 
many.  In  millions  of  windows  hang  stars  that 
tell  of  anxious  hearts,  just  as  anxious  as  mine, 
and  of  men  at  the  front  just  as  dear  to  those  who 
love  them  as  mine.  I  can  wait! 

And  waiting — 

I  see  Richard  ....  climbing  the  Green  Stairs 
....  coming  into  the  little  Home  of  our  Dreams! 


"THE  SERVICE  OF  SHINING"      313 

/  see  the  smile  in  his  dear  eyes  as  he  holds  out  his 

arms  to  me having  earned  the  right  to 

make  all  those  dreams  come  true  ....  having 
fought  the  good  fight  ....  and  kept  the  faith 
....  that  all  homes  may  be  safe  and  sacred 
everywhere,  the  wide  world  over  .... 

And  seeing  thus,  I  can  put  up  with  my  "long, 
long  night  of  waiting,"  thinking  only  of  that 
heavenly  ending ! 


CALLING 


The  first  big  love  story  to  come  out  of  the  war 
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The  author,  Lt.  Credo  Harris,  stationed  in 
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Every  grown-up  will  remember  the  time 
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A  DELIGHTFUL  STORY  BY 

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Over  the  Seas  for  Uncle  Sam 

By  ELAINE  STERNE, 
Author  of  "The  Road  of  Ambition" 

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A  THO  US  AND 
WAYS  TO  PLEASE 
A  HUSBAND 

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and  HELEN    COWLES    LE   CRON 

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